By the Grace of God
by TheRiverScribe
Summary: Staring at the strange woman holding a gun, Sam Winchester believes he has lost everything. All he wants is to join Dean in the void. Until Chuck arrives with an offer. (Warnings, if any apply, are given at the top of each chapter!)
1. Offering

**OFFERING**

Everything happened too fast.  
Dean was gone, blown into the void to save the world yet again.  
Castiel was gone, banished from the bunker by a blonde.  
Sam could only stand and stare at the strange woman who was pointing a gun at him.

The blonde spoke, her words traveling to him through muffling layers of space and time. There was a disconnect between his mind and body. The air felt thick, like water weighing down his chest.

"Where is Dean?" she demanded calmly.

 _Dean?_ Sam's eyes darted around the room trying to locate his brother before he remembered...

"Dead," he choked. Reality slowly seeped back into the present and suddenly he didn't care. The gun didn't matter, who she was didn't matter, nothing mattered except the void where Dean existed.

More words, and then pain burned through Sam's left shoulder as the gun exploded. He fell back against the pillar and slid to the ground. For a second, hope bloomed in Sam's chest. Hope that he would soon join Dean in the void and never again have to figure out how to live alone. His eyes closed as peace settled beside the hope. It would be over soon.

"No," said a soft male voice.

Sam slowly blinked in confusion, frowning when he saw Chuck standing over him. The image of God smiled and Sam felt warmth surround him.

He watched Chuck turn toward the woman. She was staring with wide eyes as he whispered to her. Sam couldn't make out the words, but the effect was immediate. Tears poured down her cheeks as she fell to her knees. Chuck placed his hand on her bowed head and she was gone.

Silence filled the bunker. Sam could only stare, uncomprehending as Chuck returned to kneel next to him. Ever since the prophet had revealed his true identity to them, Sam had struggled to remind himself that this was _the_ God and not the alcoholic writer of the brothers' biographies. But now?

The small man's presence filled the bunker's vast space with such power and authority there was no reminder needed.

Sam's mind tried to shift into overdrive before stalling into silent awe. The fear that had refused to surface since Dean's departure slammed into him. His legs slid uselessly against the tile floor as he fought to push his body to standing but Chuck just smiled again.

"Shh, Sam," Chuck soothed as his hand moved to cup Sam's cheek and wipe away tears Sam didn't know he was shedding. "Everything is going to be okay. Do you trust me?"

Words caught in Sam's throat and came out in a half-sob. He shook his head in confusion and overwhelming emotion before realizing Chuck might interpret it as an answer. Eyes wide in fear of misunderstanding, he tried to answer again. "I don't understand..."

Chuck brought up his other hand so both were framing Sam's face. Warmth infused his entire being like sinking into a hot bath and Sam floated on it briefly before he understood what he was experiencing—God's love. It was perfect and so far beyond anything Sam had ever known or imagined. So long had he sought after some sign of God's acceptance and forgiveness. An entire lifetime of prayer had revealed nothing and Sam had eventually resigned himself to the fact that he was possibly too tainted, too wrong, too bad to receive acknowledgment. It was why he had so easily accepted Lucifer's visions of the cage as coming from God. What else did he deserve?

Sam's eyes closed in shame even as he longed to lose himself in the love and peace that passed all understanding.

"Open your eyes Sam," Chuck's voice was soft yet resounding, and Sam obeyed. He stared at the face of God. "Do you have faith in me?"

"Yes," he whispered and was rewarded with a blinding smile.

Chuck shifted forward until their foreheads rested together. "Sam, my precious child. You have done more for my creation than any other being in existence. You carry pain and scars that are soul-deep, and yet you have continued to fight and serve others. I am humbled by your devotion."

Sam found himself trying to shake his head again although he didn't know what he was trying to deny specifically. Chuck moved his head back slightly, but the flaring anxiety of rejection quickly dispersed when Sam felt a kiss pressed to his temple. The man pulled back without removing his hands until Sam could see his face. "How...?" Sam started, but didn't know how to finish. _How can you say these things? How can you stand to touch me? How can you love me?_

Sadness crept into Chuck's smile and Sam felt a stab of shame knowing he was the cause. Instead of answering, Chuck continued. "I want to offer you something. A gift, of sorts."

"Dean?" He knew of nothing he needed or wanted more than his brother, alive and well and by his side.

A soft laugh chased some of the sadness from Chuck's smile and his hands moved up to brush Sam's hair away from his sweaty, tear-streaked face. "Oh, how I wish Michael and Lucifer had the devotion of you Winchesters. No, Dean is not a gift I can give you..."

The sob seemed to explode out of Sam's chest. His eyes squeezed shut and his head fell back hard against the pillar as despair overtook him.

"Now, none of that you ridiculous child," the gentle laughter in Chuck's voice pushed out the cold sorrow. Sam opened his eyes again and tried to make out Chuck's expression through the flood of fresh tears. "Dean is not a gift I can give you because he is already safe and on his way back to you. With a gift of his own, if I'm not mistaken."

"What?" Sam gasped, disbelief and hope warring within. _Dean is alive? Dean is ALIVE?!_

"He is alive and unharmed and will reunite with you soon, I promise. And he will tell you everything that happened. But first," he paused, dropping one hand to cover Sam's blood-soaked chest, "I would like to offer you a chance at healing."

The phrasing confused Sam. Supernatural and divine healing was a common enough occurrence for the Winchester brothers. Angels and demons had both healed them on countless occasions. Often it involved nothing more than a tap of fingers against their foreheads after a long hunt. _A chance at healing_ sounded different.

"I wasn't exaggerating when I said that your scars were soul-deep. The cage was never meant to contain a human. Certainly not a human _and_ two angry archangels. You have suffered greatly at the hands of my firstborn children. Your soul has been torn apart, shredded by those who should have protected and cherished it. I know Castiel tried to help by removing the hallucinations, but he could do nothing to heal the soul. No one can," he sighed and continued running his fingers through Sam's tangled hair with care and comfort, "Souls are tricky things. Truly, my most complicated creation. Even I cannot simply heal this type of damage the same as I would a physical body."

"But what...I mean, I thought you..." Sam couldn't seem to get his thoughts and words to cooperate.

"I cannot create _more_ soul to replace the torn pieces Death recovered from the cage. But I can infuse it with my grace and knit the two together."

Breath and words caught in Sam's throat as he realized the magnitude of the gift being offered. He clumsily brought one of his hands up to cover the one Chuck had resting on his chest. _Why?_ was the only thought racing through his mind.

Chuck answered him as though he had spoken the question. "Because I want to thank you for your sacrifices. Because I want to reward you for your struggles. And because I want you to have the chance to heal from your wounds. It will not be easy, though," the sudden wry smile reminded Sam of Gabriel, as did Chuck's next words. "I can't just snap my fingers and make this go away or get better."

Sam smiled at the distant memory of the trickster archangel.

"And it will change you." Chuck's words brought Sam back to the present.

"How?"

"Well," Chuck sighed and moved the hand from Sam's hair to trace the boy's frowning brow, "I'm not entirely sure. The closest experience I have with seeing a soul and grace combined were the Nephilim of old. But this will be different. You will not be a child born of human and angel. You will be a human infused with _my_ grace. Which, as you may imagine, is quite a bit more potent than even the archangels."

Sam was reeling, overwhelmed by a war of gratitude and fear. He could only repeat his mental question from before. "Why?"

Chuck seemed to understand the multiple questions behind Sam's one-word. _Why is this necessary? Why such an extreme offer? Why is he willing to go so far to help Sam?_

"Like I said, I can't just snap my fingers and make everything better for you. And just as the cage was never meant to hold a human, the human mind was never meant to spend centuries in the cage. Your mind has never been able to fully integrate and comprehend the memories and experiences from that time. And it never will as long as it remains completely human. They will continue to fester in the back of your mind until it breaks and the insanity returns. The scars on your soul are also unraveling," his hand dropped from the boy's face to his chest so he was cradling Sam's hand between both of his, "This weariness you feel now will only continue to grow until both your mind and soul break apart. And then it will be too late."

Sam sucked in a breath as he realized what Chuck was saying. That he was dying in ways that went beyond the physical. That he was offering a second chance. That God _wanted_ Sam to have a second chance. "So I would be like the Nephilim?"

"Well," Chuck started, then shrugged, "maybe? You may be more like an actual angel, but like I said, this is all kinda unknown. You will be a new creation, made with a part of me. You will still be Sam, still have all your memories and such. Just...more."

Sam gripped Chuck's hand with his fingers and felt God respond with a reassuring squeeze. Looking into the fathomless gaze of God, Sam took a stilted breath and nodded.

"Yes?" Chuck asked.

"Yes." Sam said. He gave a quick half-smile and tried to sit up more only to hiss in pain as his shoulder reminded him that he'd just been shot.

"Easy there," Chuck said, hands shifting to Sam's shoulders to prevent the boy from moving more. "How about we get you somewhere more comfortable and then we'll begin."

Sam blinked and found himself laying on the bed in his room of the bunker. There had been no gesture or sound to indicate Chuck moving them. His body sank into the familiar softness of his mattress and closed his eyes in relief as his muscles finally had the chance to relax.

They opened again when he felt the mattress sink down next to him. Chuck was sitting by his side, one hand again moving to brush Sam's hair back from his face. "There, that's better. Now I'm going to put you to sleep so I can work. I imagine soul-touching is not something you will want to be awake for."

Sam cringed at the memories of both Castiel and Lucifer plunging their hands into his chest, and pain without measure. "Yeah, good plan."

Chuck smiled reassuringly, "I may not be here when you wake up. My sister and I have our own healing we need to do, and I shouldn't keep her waiting too long. But rest assured, your brother will be here soon. As will Castiel. Okay?"

"Wait!" Sam cried as fingers moved toward his forehead in a familiar gesture, "I...I just..." he blinked away a resurgence of tears as he realized this might be his last chance to speak to God face-to-face. Chuck remained still, the picture of eternal patience. It took a few shaky breaths before Sam could continue. He could only think of one thing to say, "Thank you."

Chuck leaned in to kiss his forehead again, and Sam felt himself drift away on a sea of warmth and love. He was not aware of Chuck pulling out his soul, or the blinding flood of grace that filled the room to encircle the tiny sphere of dimming light. He didn't hear God whisper words of love in Enochian to his soul as he masterfully wove his own grace together with the splintered tendrils. He didn't feel God cradle his newest and most precious creation in his palm before tenderly placing it back within Sam's body.

And he certainly wasn't conscious of the his new grace-soul connecting back with its physical vessel. Light grew from within Sam's body as they merged and changed together. The grace-soul recognized that this human body would not sustain it in it's current form and so rebuilt its vessel using the matter and energy and DNA to reform.

Chuck smiled at the much smaller form that was left as the light faded back to normal. He probably should have mentioned to Sam that angels age at a much slower rate than humans. They had to in order to acclimate to their power and abilities as wavelengths of celestial intent. Now, Sam would have the chance to heal, process all the trauma and memories of both the cage and earth, and truly have the second chance he deserved.

He leaned down to kiss the top of his boy's head a third and final time. "Sleep well, little one. You have so much to look forward to when you awake."

And then he was gone.


	2. Child of God

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
Enochian is in bold.  
**

* * *

 **CHILD OF GOD**

Sam was floating. He had no memory of ever feeling this light. It was like drifting in zero gravity, or astral projection, or maybe a sensory deprivation tank. Feelings of calm and love had eased his transition to consciousness and he allowed himself to bask in it for a moment.

His eyes opened and all calm immediately dispersed to make way for confusion and overwhelming ... _everything._ Too much light and color forced his eyes to slam shut again. The hum of electricity fueling the ancient bunker's lighting and computer systems felt like a deafening roar. The dust in the air tickled his nose and throat. Blinking slowly, he squinted into the familiar room, trying to make sense of his own senses. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light and froze.

This was _not_ his hand. He turned it over several times and raised the left one to compare. Neither of these hands were his even though they responded perfectly to his mental commands. They were tiny. And pink. And not scarred. And so tiny!

His eyes focused past the hands to take in the pair of knobby knees poking out from beneath the hem of a giant white undershirt. The knees connected to a pair of scrawny legs and also-tiny bare feet. The toes wiggled on command and Sam found himself scrambling off the side of the bed to get away from the foreign body parts.

The sheet and blanket tangled around his torso as he moved and provided a small amount of cushion when he landed on the hard bunker floor. The squeal of surprise and fear came out a few octaves too high. Staring at the ceiling in confusion, he began to remember.

Chuck. Cas. Blondie. The Darkness. Dean.

 _Dean. Dean is alive!_ At that thought, excitement warred with the fear and confusion, and he quickly untangled himself to stand on shaky legs.

"Whoa!" he stammered when he realized his head only reached about a foot above the mattress.

The sound of a door opening and muffled voices made his head snap toward the hallway. His heart jumped as he remembered Chuck's promise that Dean would be arriving soon, but there was no guarantee that who he was hearing right now was Dean. He had trouble making out the voices over the hum of the lights, and he was too vulnerable in the small body to take any chances. After a few attempts, he was able to get the knife he kept stashed under his pillow. The weight felt foreign and excessive to his thin arms and his hands struggled to grip the too-large handle.

Tiptoeing barefoot down the hall, Sam made his way slowly toward the increasing sounds of movement and voices. A woman's laugh made him stop and frown. He was debating whether to continue or try hiding when a sense he had no name for flared up. Something called to him, drawing him toward those invading the bunker.

His feet moved without thought, though he remained cautious. As he drew closer, he heard a voice he would recognize anywhere. Of course, it didn't hurt that the voice was being belted at full volume.

"SAMMY! Oh, god Cas, there's blood everywhere! What happened? I thought you were going to protect him! I was only gone for a few hours! SAMMY!" Sam could hear the panic. No, that wasn't quite right. Sam could _feel_ the panic dripping from his brother's voice. It hit him like his own and made him gasp. He couldn't breath around it. The knife fell from his trembling fingers and the clatter echoed through the halls.

"Dean, did you hear that?" the low rumble of Castiel's voice resonated in Sam's mind. It sounded different, yet the same. Like he was hearing layers or pitches overlapping the normal bass. It triggered that same sensation from before, the one for which he had no name. It tugged at him, but Dean's panic kept him from moving.

Footsteps pounded across the floor, rapidly approaching his hallway. Three people rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks when they caught sight of him. The woman looked familiar, but Sam couldn't place where he'd seen her from. It was the other two faces that mattered at the moment anyway.

 _Dean!_ Sam's mind screamed in joy and astonishment. It was one thing to hear Chuck say his brother was safe and alive, it was another to actually see him. However, their typical post- resurrection/near-death experience chick flick moment was put on hold. Dean glared at him with a mixture of anger and panic and aggressive protective 'big-brother' mode.

"What the fuck?" Dean stared in confusion before recognition and disbelief took over. "Sammy? Dude, what...? Cas, what am I seeing here? Am I crazy, or has my brother shrunk?" A quick glance over to the Winchesters' angel tore Dean's attention away from Sam. "Cas?" The concern in Dean's voice had Sam turning his gaze toward the angel as well.

Blue eyes, wide in amazement, were staring unblinking back at him. And beyond the familiar figure of Castiel's vessel... _layers of grace and light and wings!_ Sam gasped at the massive black feathers that reflected every color—including some he couldn't name. They shifted behind Castiel as he took a step toward Sam. Dean's hand shot out and stopped him from going any closer. "Wait," he said without taking his eyes off his _very_ little brother, "Sam? Is that you?"

Sam felt the suspicion pouring off his brother and he could only nod in response. Apprehension filled him as the full implications of Chuck's actions hit home. He had given no thought to how Dean would react. _I'm not human._ _What if Dean doesn't trust me? Oh God, I'm not human! He's going to hate me. What have I done?!_ Tears blinded him for a second, and when he saw the blurry figure of his brother start to move toward him Sam felt himself turn to run without thinking.

He made it about three steps before he lost control of his feet. This new body had so little mass—it was like trying to throw a leaf when you were expecting a stone! Sam's body pitched forward just as he heard the roar of wings, and before he could slam into the ground enormous arms wrapped around his waist and chest.

Grace enveloped him and he was torn between an instinct that whispered _safety_ and the clear memory of how Lucifer and Michael's had burned. A scream ripped from his throat as he tried to twist out of the hold. " **No! Sorry! No no...** " he pleaded, not realizing he was using the language he'd learned at the hands of the archangels.

The arms refused to release him, but never tightened to painfully crush him as he expected. A soft rustling brought a sensation of silk and warm rain as feathers brushed against his face and shoulders. It muffled the roar of the cage until he could make out a familiar voice in his ear. " **You are safe, Samuel. Calm yourself, no one will hurt you here. Everything is fine. You are safe, your brother is safe, and everything is alright. Just calm down. Good, breathe slowly, very good...** "

The cage faded completely, leaving only the warm cocoon of feathers and colors. "C-Cas?" Sam stuttered through the receding panic.

"Yes, Sam," came the calm reply from over Sam's shoulder. The arms relaxed enough to allow Sam to turn and face him. Blue eyes met hazel and Sam felt no judgment or suspicion in the gaze. Before either could speak again, however, a third voice spoke up reminding Sam of who else was there.

"Cas! What the hell is going on?" Dean's voice was deceptively calm but Sam could still feel the anxiety and aggression hidden beneath the even tone.

Sam watched the slight frown form on Castiel's brow as the angel gave his usual long-suffering sigh—the one saved just for when Dean was demanding and impatient. The curtain of feathers withdrew and Sam could again make out his brother and the familiar woman. Both were hovering in the hallway entrance with Dean keeping the woman slightly behind him.

"I'm not entirely sure what is going on, Dean, although I am fairly certain Hell has nothing to do with it." Castiel's eyes traced every inch of Sam's face and seemed to be looking beyond the physical realm. His gaze moved down the smaller torso and stopped on the bare feet. "Perhaps we should move to a more comfortable location. Sam needs something warmer than this shirt. I believe his new, smaller body is struggling to maintain a normal temperature."

His words were met with a brief silence before Dean's confused,"What?"

Another sigh from Castiel. "Sam is cold."

"Well, why didn't you just say that?" grumbled Dean and Sam felt his brother's suspicion fade to concern, "Of course he's cold! Look at him—he's what? Six or seven years old?"

As the tension and adrenaline drained away, Sam noticed that he actually _was_ cold and that a tremble was growing in his limbs. His fingers grasped on to Castiel's trench coat when he felt his knees weaken in exhaustion. The angel's arms tightened in response and before Sam could blink he found himself raised up closer to his usual eye-level.

Mortification made his whole body tense as he realized Castiel was holding him like a child. "Stop it, Cas! I can still walk!" Sam pushed against Castiel's chest, trying in vain to slip the grasp, "I'm smaller, not injured. Seriously, dude, put me back down!" The hand covering his back held Sam in place against Castiel's chest as the group began moving toward library—the only space with both a fireplace and couches.

"I dunno, Sammy," Dean sounded like he was smirking, and a glance over Cas' shoulder confirmed for Sam that his brother was barely containing a laugh, "I'm pretty sure you would have face-planted if Cas hadn't caught you. You should probably enjoy being swept off your feet while you still can, princess. I'm sure we'll find a fix for this and you'll be towering over us all again in no time."

Sam glared at his brother, but the sight of the woman distracted him. His mind raced to try and place where he'd seen her before. She was wearing jeans several sizes too large and one of Dean's favorite Metallica shirts. He opened his mouth to ask about her when he felt a spike of anxiety wrapped in what he thought was happiness. A look back at Dean revealed an excited grin that lit up his entire face—a rarity for either Winchester. His brother kept glancing at the blonde beside him and the happiness mingled with love.

Confusion only added to the feelings of irritation and helplessness in Sam. He hated being vulnerable and defenseless. He hated not knowing what was going on around him. Most of all, he hated feeling out of control. The uncertainty of the situation was too similar to scenarios Lucifer would create in the cage.

Pushing that line of thought aside, Sam tilted his head and continued staring at the woman. "Dean, who..." His words were cut off when the world tilted and the ceiling filled his vision. The sensation of falling had him tightening his hold on the angel.

Castiel chuckled as his hands gently moved to untangle himself from Sam's death grip, "I cannot let you down if you do not let go, Sam."

A glance down showed that they were hovering over the couch in what must have been an awkward and humorous sight if Dean's bark of laughter was any indication. Sam released his grip and allowed himself to fall into the cushions. A moment later a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and tucked under his legs.

Blue eyes filled his vision once again as Castiel knelt in front of him, his hands warming the blanket with a touch of his grace.

"Thanks Cas," Sam said, shyly ducking his head from all the attention.

"Jeeze, and I get accused of being a mother hen," Dean muttered as he sat next to Sam on the couch.

"I am not a chicken, nor have I given birth." Castiel said in a deadpan voice, but the slight crook of a smile proved the angel's amusement and understanding of the joke.

Dean rolled his eyes before focusing on Sam. "So, you want to fill us in on how you got turned into a munchkin? Was it witches, like what happened to me a couple years ago? Cas said there was a woman here who banished him." His voice trailed off as he waited for an answer.

"No, I mean yes," Sam sighed, trying to figure out how to explain, "Yes, there was a woman here. She said she was from the Men of Letters in Britain, so I don't think she was a witch," he picked at the blanket as he tried to order his jumbled but vivid memories, "It all happened so fast. She said she was here to take us in...something about being tried for our crimes against humanity. I told her I wouldn't go. She shot me..." His fingers reached up to feel unblemished skin on his shoulder where the wound had been.

"What!?" Dean shouted as he pulled the blanket from Sam in an attempt to check for injuries and bullet holes. "Where? We saw the blood, but I wasn't sure..." his hands flew over the younger brother's body in the familiar routine of a post-hunt evaluation.

Sam squirmed and batted at Dean's hands when they tried to pull aside the shirt covering his chest, "Quit, Dean, I'm fine. I was healed."

That stopped Dean's movements and the hands settled on Sam's shoulders to turn the boy toward him. Green eyes bore into his, searching for even a hint of pain or deception. Both brothers had a history of downplaying and hiding injuries. "Who healed you, Sam? It know it wasn't Cas—he met us outside the bunker and had no idea what happened after being banished. So who else was here?"

"It was Chuck," Sam said in a small voice.

Dean's jaw dropped and Castiel gave a sharp inhale.

"Who's Chuck?" All three men jumped as the woman spoke for the first time since Sam had seen her. She was sitting on the couch across from them, her face full of worry and confusion.

Sam stared as her voice triggered memories from a time before the cage. He remembered the devastation of watching Dean and her interact as he stood, unseen and unacknowledged in his brother's heaven, longing for this woman he had never known.

"Mom?" his voice cracked and he was suddenly drowning in a sea of emotions. Love, fear, joy, excitement, and confusion flooded from the two full-sized humans. Sam shut his eyes and folded in on himself, trying hard to remain grounded and not get lost in the waves. He felt a hand rest on the back of his head and the tide diminished.

Dean's worried voice and Castiel's low rumble filtered into his ears but he couldn't answer as he focused on breathing in relief.

"He is fine, Dean. Whatever was done to Sam has made him incredibly sensitive and open to the emotions of others. I suspect he is simply overwhelmed, but I am shielding him now until he is better capable of doing it himself."

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded, "What _exactly_ was done to him?"

Sam's scalp tingled as fingers moved through his hair in a gentle massage.

"I don't know, but Sam is...he has grace." Awe filled Castiel's voice and it was enough to make Sam open his eyes.

"Sammy," the boy's gaze met his brother's worried eyes, " _what happened_?"

"I...I'm not sure. Chuck showed up right after I was shot. He sent the woman away and then he," he gave a small shrug, "he said he wanted to heal me."

"He healed a bullet wound by making you a little kid?" Dean's face scrunched up in confusion.

"No, he—he said he wanted to," Sam tried to swallow as his stomach rolled with anxiety, "he wanted to heal my soul. He said it was scarred and dying, or something, and that the only way to do fix it was to fill in the cracks with his grace. He said it would change me, but he never mentioned anything about _this_!" Tiny hands gestured at his new, pint-sized body. He exhaled in a rush, hugging his knees to his chest in an attempt at self-soothing. There was one more thing to say, and it was the hardest to admit. "He said I wouldn't be _entirely_ human anymore."

The silence was too loud and too long. Sam wanted to disappear inside the folds of the grace-infused blanket. He pulled it back up over his shoulders and huddled into it. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, he stared at his covered knees and waited for the inevitable explosion. And braced for the possible rejection.

He heard Dean take a shaky breath before speaking in a low tone. "And what exactly does that mean?"

Sam shrugged and shook his head, "Not sure. Chuck said he didn't really know either. Something similar to the Nephilim maybe."

"Cas? You got any divine insight for us?"

"He is not a Nephilim," Castiel responded, dropping his hand to the base of Sam's neck to gently ease the building tension in the boy's muscles, "The Nephilim were children born from a union between angels and humans. Heaven forbid their existence when most were born insane and feral. They became a danger to all creation. But Sam is different. I...I have never seen anything like it. His soul is completely merged with grace. I imagine he closest resembles an archangel fledgling, however they were created long before the seraphs so I can't be certain."

"So, who is Chuck?" Mary Winchester asked again. Sam glanced up at her, but saw no disgust at the revelation that her youngest was no longer human. In fact, Sam thought she looked like it was taking every ounce of her self control not to push the two larger men out of her way and sit closer. Her hands kept alternating between being tightly clasped together and then rubbing her palms against the baggy jeans to wipe away sweat. The gesture looked familiar and it took a second for Sam to realize that _he_ did the same thing when nervous. Mary saw him looking her way and gave him a hopeful smile. He returned it tentatively before turning to look at his brother.

Dean was running a hand over his mouth—a sure sign that his mind was trying to process everything Castiel had just said. He let out a sigh before answering their mother, "It's kind of a long story, but Chuck is...well, he's God. Like the actual Judaeo-Christian God."

Mary's jaw dropped, "And God's name is Chuck?"

"When we first met him, we thought he was a prophet. At least, that's what the angels told us. He was writing the new gospels, which just so happen to be the story of our lives. Me and Sam, I mean." Dean shook his head as he thought back to the days of the apocalypse, and just how young and naive they had been. He huffed a laugh, "They're called the _Winchester Gospels_ by the god-squad, but most humans know them as _Supernatural_. A shitty fantasy book series with really weird fans.

"Anyway, we just thought he was some stupid author who drank too much. Then we were told he was actual a prophet of the Lord who had visions of our lives and profited by publishing the stories. It wasn't until a week or so ago that we found out he was actually God."

Sam's mind drifted as his brother spoke. Memories and thoughts kept overlapping and running together. Sensory and emotional overload was causing his head to pound, and exhaustion made distinguishing the past from the present difficult. Fear of Dean's rejection was creating a slideshow of every time Sam had broken his brother's trust. But they weren't just hazy images like he was used to—they were completely immersive. He felt the weight of the backpack he'd worn the day he left for Stanford. Tasted the demon blood he guzzled in secret. Heard the rage and hate of Dean threatening to hunt him, telling him he was a monster and vampire and not worth saving.

The hand rubbing his neck paused and it took him a moment to realize that someone was saying his name. Castiel's worried face was closer than before and Sam had to force himself not to pull back.

"Sorry," he felt out of breath as he spoke, "What did you say?"

Castiel's frown grew. "Are you alright, Sam?"

Sam nodded and winced as the headache ratcheted up several notches, threatening to become a migraine.

"You sure, Sammy?" Dean's concern was clear in both his tone and expression, "Because you're, well..." his voice trailed off as he lifted his hand and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at Sam's face. It was only then Sam realized his cheeks were wet and hot. His brother's gentleness only caused more tears to fall and Sam was helpless to stop them.

As much as Dean liked to tease him about being emotional and needing "chick-flick moments," Sam rarely cried. And now he had burst into tears more times than he could count in just a matter of hours. He brought a hand out from under the blanket and rubbed a fist over his eyes trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Yeah," he choked out, "It's just a headache. I can't...my mind is...there's too much!" He didn't know how to explain what was happening in his brain. Mostly because he didn't _know_ what was happening.

"Too much what?" Castiel resumed running his fingers through Sam's hair as he spoke.

"Too much everything! Things are too loud, too bright. I think of something that happened a long time ago and I remember every detail. It's kind of like flashbacks, but different. And it all keeps bouncing around. And it _hurts_!" Sam scrunched up his face in frustration.

Castiel's frown melted into sad understanding, "That is normal—for angels. Our grace provides us with near-perfect recall, and allows us to experience the world on far more levels than earthly beings. It is why you are feeling Dean and Mary's emotions. I expect it will take some getting used to for you."

"Can I turn it off?" he asked, desperation coloring his voice.

Castiel nodded and offered a small smile, "With time and practice. I will help you."

"Thanks Cas." Sam whispered. His brain felt raw and he was too tired for a greater response.

"Okay," Dean stood slowly, weary from his own adventures of the day, "I think we all need some sleep. Let's get pint-sized here into bed, and set up a room for mom," a thrill of joy ran through him just saying her name and he saw her eyes light up to hear it, "Tomorrow we can figure more shit out. After a celebratory resurrection breakfast."

Without another word, Dean reached down and scooped up Sam with the blanket.

"Hey! Dean, what...why do you guys keep carrying me?" Sam tried to squirm, but between the lack of adrenaline and the abundance of exhaustion his attempts were feeble at best. Within a few steps he stilled and resigned himself to his fate.

Dean laughed and held him closer. "Dude, you can barely keep your eyes open. And you have no socks, shoes, or pants. You would totally face-plant the second your feet hit the floor." Sam saw Mary and Castiel trail close behind them as they all made their way to the bedrooms. "Don't worry, we'll get you some clothes and stuff tomorrow. I'm thinking Batman shirts and light-up shoes."

Sam's size did not diminish his ability to convey his opinion through facial expressions.

Dean just laughed again, and Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his brother sound so light. "You might want to tone down that bitch-face, Sammy. Don't forget we have a parent in our midst."

Sam's face dropped and his eyes darted back to their mother who was walking alongside Castiel behind them. But instead of disapproval he found delight and humor. She smiled fondly at him. "I see you inherited my death glare. Your grandfather always said I could stop a ghost in it's tracks and send it scurrying into the beyond with just a look."

Dean groaned dramatically as they entered Sam's room, "Well Sam, at least we know you came by it honestly. Cas, you and I are in trouble if these two ever decide to gang up on us. At least you've got your wings back. We may need them if we have to make a run for it."

Sam huffed a laugh against his brother's shoulder as Dean sat on the bed with Sam still in his arms. Contentment warmed him even more than the grace-infused blanket. He saw their mother pick up the mess of blankets and sheets from the floor. Suddenly, he didn't want to go to sleep. He didn't want to close his eyes and risk waking up to a world where his family was dead and he was alone.

His hands fisted in Dean's shirt when his brother tried to move him over to the mattress. Sam knew if he let go then everyone would leave. In their pre-bunker days, they would be sharing a motel room. Sam would be able to see and hear his brother if he woke up from the inevitable nightmares that always followed their worst hunts.

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly as he tried to pull away enough to see his brother's face. Sam made a noise of protest and pressed in so tight it made his arms tremble with exertion. He missed the worried looks shared by the others, but felt Dean's arms shift to hold him closer instead of pushing him away. "Talk to me, man. What's got you doing your best octopus impression?"

" **Please, no more alone. Please stay, please keep me,** " Sam whispered in a prayer to himself.

"What?" Dean spoke as Castiel inhaled sharply.

"He does not want to be alone," Castiel translated before turning to leave. "I will be right back."

Dean sighed and rubbed Sam's back as the boy continued to repeat his mantra.

"What language is he speaking?" Mary asked as she sat next to her boys, still holding the bedding.

"Um, I'm not sure. It kind of sounds like Enochian, but I've never heard him speak it before."

"Enochian?"

"Yeah," Dean cleared his throat as he realized where Sam would have learned the ancient tongue, "it's the language of the angels."

"Oh," she looked at her eldest and saw the pain on his face. There was clearly a story here and she had the impression it wasn't one she would like. "I'm guessing that isn't something you can pick up in a book."

Dean slowly shook his head and unconsciously began to gently rock his murmuring brother. "No. He spent a time with two angels a while back. I...it's a long story." He gave his mother an apologetic look.

Mary nodded with a sad smile. She had missed so much of their lives. It would probably take another lifetime just to catch up on everything.

They sat in comfortable silence until Castiel returned a minute later and gestured for them to follow. He led them to one of the largest unused rooms. It now had three beds and a small sofa. Two of the beds had been pushed together in one corner and all three were covered in piles of blankets and pillows.

"Dude!" Dean looked gobsmacked, "How...?"

"My grace is back to 'full-power,' as you say. And even if it wasn't, moving furniture is far less taxing than creating it." Castiel shrugged, but seemed pleased by Dean's reaction.

"So," Dean looked from the room arrangement to his family and grinned, "slumber party?"

"This isn't exactly how I pictured my first sleepover for you boys," Mary said wistfully as she moved to arrange the blankets on the double bed, "I imagined pillow forts and a bunch of rowdy 6 year-olds running around on a sugar high."

"Why would someone make a fort out of pillows? Or is it a fort _for_ pillows?" Castiel asked, confused.

"You mean Meta-douche didn't download any pillow fort references for you?" Dean shook his head with a smile, "The bastard."

Mary ignored the twinge of curiosity at yet another piece of information for which she had no understanding. Instead, she focused on what she did know, "It's a thing kids like to do. Gather all the pillows and blankets they can find and barricade themselves away from the annoying grown ups."

"I...see." Castiel nodded, although the look on his face made it clear he really didn't.

Once the beds for the brothers was ready, Dean sat down on the edge. "Alright, Sammy, let's try this again." But when he tried to detach himself from his still-murmuring brother, Sam's voice grew louder and more distressed. "Come on, Sam, I need to get changed. Look at what Cas has done. He set up a room so we can all stay together tonight. Okay?"

Sam showed no sign of hearing Dean's words. Castiel joined them on the bed and placed a hand on Sam's head. " **Samuel, you are not alone,** " he allowed a touch of power into his voice and Sam went silent, " **You need to open your eyes. We are safe and together, and we will remain so. Open your eyes and see. There is nothing to fear here.** "

Dean felt the boy's muscles relax slightly and was surprised when Sam turned his head toward the angel with open eyes.

Castiel smiled at Sam. " **There you are, little one. Will you sit with me while your brother changes his clothes? I promise he will return and we will all stay together in this room tonight.** "

Sam searched his friend's face and found only patience and honesty. He gave a small nod and slowly tried to make his hands let go of Dean's shirt. They were stiff from being clenched for so long, and he frowned at his disobedient limbs. A large hand covered his small fist and he jumped, but the warm touch melted away enough tension for Sam to let go. He reached tentatively for Castiel and was immediately welcomed into another embrace. Feather tips brushed against his cheek as he leaned sideways against Castiel's chest.

"Whew, good job Cas!" Dean said as he stood. He reached down and ruffled Sam's much-shorter hair. "Alright, kiddo. I'll be right back."

Sam's eyes followed him as he left the room. As soon as he was gone, his gaze was drawn to the other figure in the room. Mary was watching him with concern, and when she saw his attention move to her she slowly walked over and took Dean's place on the bed.

"Hello, Sammy," she smiled nervously.

"Hi," he replied. He consciously tried to memorize every detail of her face. "I can't believe you're really here!"

"Well, I can't believe how big you and your brother are now." Her smile grew when her son frowned dramatically as he raised his hands to eye-level.

"I used to be bigger than Dean. How the hell am I supposed to hunt when I can't even hold a knife?"

Mary's smile fell at the mention of her sons' hunting. She wanted to tell him that she'd never wanted him to be a hunter—never wanted him to even _know_ about hunting. Fear twisted her stomach into knots when she imagined what his life had been like the first time he was this small. Dean had told her a very condensed summary of how her death had driven John to abandon their home to avenge her. But she didn't know Sam now, and wasn't sure if it was her place to say anything.

Castiel saved her by speaking instead. "Sam, I doubt my father intended you to hunt right after taking such steps to heal you. It will take a great deal of time for you to learn control of your abilities and acclimate to your new senses."

"I know, but..." Sam sighed in defeat, "I didn't know 'a chance to heal' meant being a kid again. I don't like it. It feels weird."

"Yeah, well, you look weird," Dean's voice said from the doorway. His hair was wet from a quick shower and he'd changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He carried another set of similar clothing which he handed to Mary. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door on the left. I laid out a new toothbrush for you on the sink, and the shower never runs out of hot water."

She thanked him, and stood to go do just that when she stopped to bend down and press a kiss to Sam's head. "I love you, Sammy. And I'm so glad to be here with you boys." She turned and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek. Then she surprised them all by doing the same to Castiel. All three males stared in silence as she walked out of the room humming to herself.

"Your mother is very kind," said Castiel in a rougher-than-normal voice. The brothers didn't comment, too stunned to speak. The angel cleared his throat, "Sam, would you like to lay down now?"

Sam nodded and climbed over the bed to lay on the one closest to the wall. He watched with heavy eyes as Castiel stood, making room for Dean to lay down as well. Castiel moved around to the sofa and sat down facing the brothers. Dean fussed with Sam's blankets for a bit, tucking them around the small body before getting under his own quilt. The silence hummed with nervous energy as they waited for Mary to return.

"So, today's been...not how I expected." Dean said quietly. Sam let out a small, surprised laugh from under his blanket. Dean propped himself up on an elbow to stare incredulously at the tuft of hair that was the only visible part of his brother. "Dude, did you just giggle?"

Another laugh that sounded like music and chimes escaped Sam before he clamped a hand over his own mouth.

"Oh my god, you did! Do it again. You've never laughed like that before, not even as a little kid. Make the noise!" Dean dug professional fingers into the lumpy blanket and was rewarded with another squeal and pure joyful trill. "How are you doing that?"

"It's his grace," Castiel said, looking nostalgic and entranced, "It has been many centuries since I last heard a fledgling laugh. I had forgotten how beautiful it is."

It only took a few well-placed pokes before Sam was in a full-blown laughing fit. His whole world had been destroyed and rebuilt in a day. He had lost everything and gained back even more. Joy and peace were like a balm on raw nerves and soon his laughter was joined by happy tears.

Apparently, Dean could hear the change, and he gently pulled the blanket back to see his brother's face. The boy was smiling, and crying, and laughing. And clearly beyond exhausted. Dean smiled at the sight before dragging the tiny bundle of brother closer to him. "Alright, alright, calm it down there before mom hears and yells at us for being up past our bedtime."

"Don't make me come over there." Mary stood in the doorway with a tired, but fond look on her face. She walked over to them and took an extra blanket from the foot of the bed, shaking it out so it covered them both in an extra layer of warmth. "Good night, boys," she glanced at Castiel with a playful smirk, "and don't forget that angels are watching over you as you sleep."

"That's because Cas is a creeper." Dean said with a yawn.

Sam was snuggled into his side, already asleep. Castiel was safe and whole and staying. And their mom was alive and _here with them_.

Everything else could wait until morning.


	3. (Re)Born Yesterday pt1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
** **Enochian is in bold  
**

* * *

 **(RE)BORN YESTERDAY  
** **PART 1**

Castiel sat on the couch in patient observation of the newly-reunited Winchester family. The night had been quiet so far, allowing the angel time to contemplate his father's actions. The healing of Sam Winchester's soul through the use of God's own grace was an astonishing gift. And like everything associated with his father's "mysterious ways," it was wrapped in layers of complications.

Sam was essentially now the first fledgling since the creation of the Earth. There was no guarantee the Heavenly flock would accept him on sight and Castiel worried for the boy's safety. He also had concerns about his own ability to teach Sam control. Castiel was a soldier—he had been trained in strategy, tactics, and how to win battles. He had never been a nurturer or trained healer. His experience with young angels was limited to passing observation. All of Heaven held them as their most precious commodity, especially since the angels didn't reproduce among themselves. God had created each and every one of them, from the archangels all the way down to the cupids. And now he had recreated Sam Winchester.

He stared intently at the small form of his young friend, remembering the terror he'd felt when the woman from the British Men of Letters had banished him from Sam's side. It had taken him a couple hours to return to the bunker. His fear and guilt at being unable to protect the only remaining Winchester was a driving force and he'd arrived prepared for the worst. But when he discovered Dean and Mary...

As an angel, human emotions had always been a mystery. Even during the months he spent living as a human, emotions had taken a back seat to understanding the new bodily sensations of hunger and exhaustion. But since his co-habitation with Lucifer and his return to the waking world where his father was now with them in the bunker, emotions were stronger and more prominent. None more so than the joy and relief he felt at finding his best friend alive and well.

Meeting Mary was a rushed moment, overshadowed by his need to find Sam. But he recognized that there was a conflict of feeling—happiness for the boys who had lived without a loving parent most of their lives, and another emotion that made his stomach sour and chest tighten.

There had been no time to analyze what he had felt in that moment as they rushed into the bunker and discovered a pool of blood and no Sam. _Protectiveness? Jealousy?_ Castiel mused as his gaze shifted to the boys' mother. The sour feeling from before had long faded. He knew that initial stab of jealousy was a result of seeing the boys as _his_ charges for so many years. Fear that she would try to replace him eased when he realized she had lost as much as the rest of them.

As the evening progressed, he saw how unsure she was in her interaction with her sons. Seeing Sam for the first time had shocked all of them. Mary didn't know the boy, and Dean was torn between suspicion and incredulous disbelief. But Castiel knew the child as soon as he saw him. What shocked him wasn't the fact that Sam looked younger and smaller. No, it was the powerful radiating grace intertwined with the now-glowing familiar soul. Never before had Castiel witnessed such a combination, and the urge to protect him was fierce.

By the time the Winchesters were asleep and Castiel had soothed away the beginnings of a nightmare for Mary, he realized he already considered her as another one of his charges. Perhaps it would have been different if Sam was still fully human. Then, Castiel would have been struggling with being the outcast of their little family. But Sam was now more than a metaphoric brother—he was literally Castiel's youngest sibling.

A tiny whimper drew his attention back to the brothers. Sam was restless, turning away from his brother to face the wall. The blankets had fallen off and the boy's body was tightly curled in on itself. With barely a thought, Castiel flew to the bed, silently landing in the space between Sam and the wall without disturbing Dean.

He placed a hand on Sam's back, trying to comfort him without the use of grace. There was no telling how the new fledgling would react to it while asleep, but he suspected it would not go over well. When Castiel had held Sam in the hallway to prevent his falling, the boy had reacted violently. The words spoken in Enochian clued him in to the problem—that Sam recognized the sensation of grace and equated it with torture.

Remembering Sam's more positive reaction to his wings, Castiel unfurled the right one and brushed his feathers across Sam's face and arms. Vague memories of his own experiences as a young angel floated through his mind and he recalled the contentment and warmth found wrapped in a caretaker's embrace.

Sam shifted closer as Castiel continued rubbing small circles on his back. Hazel eyes blinked open, confused and sleepy, and looked up at him. Recognition seemed to wake him up further and Castiel retracted his wing and hand as Sam pushed himself up to sitting. His head swung around, taking in the sleeping figures of his brother and mother before returning to look at quiet angel.

" **Castiel?** " he whispered.

" **Yes, Samuel?** " Castiel replied, following Sam's lead in using Enochian.

" **What...what doing?** "

Castiel wondered if Sam's use of broken Enochian was due to a lack of vocabulary or an affectation of fear associated to how he'd learned the language. He desperately hoped it was the former. Enochian was a beautiful language, complex in meaning and sound. It was meant to create and worship, not hurt and destroy.

" **You were troubled in your sleep. I was trying to ease you back to a peaceful state, but you woke up. Are you alright?** "

Sam nodded and rubbed at his eyes. Castiel watched him fight a yawn, but before he could suggest going back to sleep he saw Sam's wide eyes focus just past Castiel's shoulder. The angel smiled, knowing his wings were the object of Sam's fascination, and extended the right one. Sam pulled back as it came closer. When the wing stopped, he glanced up at Castiel before leaning in for a better look.

The colors were reminiscent of an oil spill—black with swirls of bright colors reflecting on the surface. Sam reached out a hand toward them, but yanked it back before they touched. " **Sorry!** "

Castiel gave him a puzzled look, " **Why are you sorry?** "

Sam ducked his head in avoidance, " **Is rude? Touch is rude?** "

" **Are you asking if it is rude to touch my wings?** "

Sam nodded, but refused to look up. Castiel pondered the situation for a second, unsure how to respond.

" **It is not considered rude for an angel to touch another angel's wings in Heaven. In fact, it is quite common among those who have a close bond. When we are young, caretakers would spend many hours grooming their charges' wings. And the healers often focus on them when they healed and cleansed the grace of wounded soldiers.** "

He watched Sam's hands tighten in the blankets as though keeping himself from reaching out again. " **Is rude for...** " he struggled to find the right word, " **not-angel?** "

" **Most non-angels are not capable of seeing our wings unless we manifest them. And even then, they usually only perceive their shadows. So, I would not say it is 'rude' for them to touch as much as it is rarely a possibility.** "

Sam stayed quiet, occasionally glancing at the feathers out of the corner of his eye. Castiel forced himself to remain still even as every instinct screamed to reach out and console his troubled friend. It felt so wrong to see a fledgling carry such pain and fear and sorrow. Even those destined to be warriors of Heaven spent centuries being nurtured and trained. As far as Castiel knew, there was not a single member of the Host who had experienced what Sam had in their early life—including the fallen angels. It was simply unheard of among creatures of grace.

Taking a chance and praying he was not wrong, Castiel flicked the tip of his wing so a single feather tapped Sam's shoulder. The boy gasped and scrambled back a few inches, stopping when he felt Castiel's steadying hand on his back. He looked up at Castiel with uncertain eyes. " **But...but I not-angel!** " he said in a voice laced with shock and a hint of accusation.

Castiel tilted his head, listening to the unique hum of Sam's grace-soul. It was a fascinating blend between what he called "Winchester humanity" (a soul shaped by sacrifice) and the perfection of his father's love and grace. " **Samuel,** " he smiled and bent down so they were eye-to-eye, " **you have been part of my family for a long time. And now, you carry the grace of our father. You are my family by choice and blood. The only reason you have not been able to touch my wings before is because you were incapable of seeing or feeling them. Now, you may.** "

Uncertainty washed away as tears filled Sam's eyes. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Castiel reached his other hand toward the boy and pulled him in to a hug. He felt the body tense before relaxing against his chest with a huff, circling his arms around Castiel's neck. They sat there in silence for several minutes. Then, Sam moved one of his hands to brush a finger against a wing.

Castiel jumped slightly and made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. Sam immediately pulled back to look at his face, tiny features etched in worry and guilt. But instead of anger or pain, he was greeted with an embarrassed smile. "You didn't hurt me, Sam. It just," Castiel's cheeks turned a slightly pink, "I believe the closest term would be 'tickled.'" The switch to English seemed to take Sam a second longer to process, but Castiel took it as a good sign when he sighed in relief.

"Ugh," a gruff, deep voice sounded from beneath the blankets, startling both of them. "What could you two possibly be whispering about at oh-dark-thirty in the morning?" Dean pushed the blankets back and blinked up at them. Then he blinked several more times like he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. "Cas? Why are you in the bed?" His eyes darted between Castiel's chagrined expression and Sam, who was kneeling on the angel's lap and clutching his tiny hand to his chest like it had just been burned. "Sammy, you okay? What's wrong?" Dean sat up, fully awake and prepared for crisis management.

"I...yes, I mean...I didn't... **Sorry! I not touch!** " Sam stammered, unsure of what he should express to whom.

"Sam, there is no need for apologies. Like I said, it just tickled and it surprised me. You may touch them whenever you wish."

"Whoa! Hold the phone!" Dean said loudly.

Castiel frowned. He let go of Sam to reach into the trench coat pocket and pull out his cell phone. Then he turned expectantly toward Dean. "Is this phone acceptable for holding?"

"What? No! I swear, Cas, sometimes..." Dean rubbed his face with his hands.

"Then why did you tell me to hold one? What is the purpose?" Castiel looked to Sam for clarification, but the boy was bent over. Seeing his hands over his mouth and shoulders shaking, Castiel's confusion turned to concern. "Sam? Are you...?" But as he reached out and touched Sam's shoulder, a jolt of amusement and mirth ran through him. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Of course he's laughing at you! I'd be laughing too, but I need coffee. How long have you been around us? 'Hold the phone' means to stop what you're doing or saying! How did Metatron miss that in his pop culture upload to your brain?"

Castiel searched his memory and quickly realized that there were indeed several repetitions of that phrase in the thousands of stories given to him by the Scribe of God. "Sorry, Dean," Castiel was flushed again with embarrassment, "You are right. I was just distracted and..."

"Is everything alright?" Mary's voice was soft with sleep. A small lamp turned on and they all looked to see her sitting up, tired but ready to act if needed.

"Yeah," Dean smiled and waved a hand at the two beside him, "just awkward early morning conversations with Thing 1 and Thing 2 here. Sorry for waking you up, mom."

Castiel felt the burst of joy from all three Winchesters at the sound of her title. He cleared his throat, "Yes, I apologize for waking both of you. Sam and I were discussing my wings, and I discovered that they are slightly ticklish."

Dean looked at Sam now that there was enough light to really see. His little brother looked tired and tense, but his eyes were shining with laughter and he was smiling. "I don't even want to know." A glance at his watch showed it was just after five o'clock in the morning. "Well, since we're all up, who wants breakfast?"

Castiel found crawling off the bed to be much more cumbersome than flying onto it, but he managed. Dean was already out the door and Mary was sitting on the edge of her bed, brushing out the tangles in her hair with her fingers. He looked back in time to see Sam slide off the bed onto unsteady feet.

Moving forward to help him, he stopped when Sam glared. " **No! You...** " he shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed for a second. It was clear he was frustrated and struggling internally with something. When he started again, Castiel was relieved to hear him use clear English. "You are not going to carry me everywhere. I am smaller, not injured. It'll just take me a bit to get used to—which won't happen if everyone keeps picking me up like some infant!"

"As you wish," Castiel nodded and saw Mary stand to join them, "although we should find you some socks. And pants."

Sam stopped by the door to turn and give Castiel a withering look. "The only socks we have would be the _size_ of pants."

"Well, Dean said something about shopping today," Mary said, smiling at the too-familiar scowl, "It seems we are both in need of a new wardrobe."

Sam tried to smile back, but it came out twisted and forced. "I hate clothes shopping." He turned to make his way toward the kitchen only to run smack into Dean.

"Don't lie. You hate shopping period." Dean teased, grabbing his brother before he could fall. Without pausing, he scooped Sam up and kept walking toward their kitchen.

"Damn it all! Put me down, Dean!" Sam yelled, digging his feet into Dean's stomach and sides. "I swear to g—Chuck, if you don't put me down I will kick you in the balls."

Dean stopped walking, but kept his hold firm. "What is wrong with you? Quit that! If I drop you on your head, you'll have no one but yourself to blame...AHH!" Dean cut off in a painful squawk and let go of Sam in favor of grabbing the nipple that had just been viciously twisted by little fingers.

Sam fell, landing on his butt instead of his head. He quickly grabbed the hem of his over-sized shirt to keep covered when he remembered that no pants also meant no underwear. He looked up to see Castiel sporting his usual long-suffering expression saved for when he was forced to endure the brothers' squabbles. Mary, however, had her hands on her hips and an unreadable look on her face. She seemed torn about whether or not she should intervene.

"Do they...?" she started, nudging Castiel with her elbow.

"This is normal. And frequent," he sighed, frowning at Sam when the boy kicked out a leg which connected with Dean's shin.

"Ow! Stop that you little shit!" Dean yelled, taking a wide step around his brother and stomping off down the hall. "See if you get any cool clothes. I may just get you princess dresses!"

Castiel watched as Sam's anger became mixed with wary sadness, and wondered if clothes were a loaded topic for the boys. He knew Dean was extremely partial to his old band shirts, but Sam didn't seem to have any particular attachment to clothing items. Occasionally, the boys would make a run to a local thrift shop when their hunting clothes were destroyed beyond salvaging. Sam always complained because they rarely carried anything in his size, but he never pushed to look in stores that sold new clothing. In fact, Castiel was certain that Sam could still fit his entire wardrobe in one duffle bag in spite of having lived in the bunker for a few years now.

He heard Mary let out a huff as she went and crouched down by her youngest. "Are you hurt?"

Sam looked up in surprise and shook his head with a slight smile. "Only my pride."

"Yeah, that runs deep on both sides of our family." She held out a hand and waited for him to take it. "Come on, let's make sure he doesn't burn all your food out of spite."

After some hesitation, Castiel was pleased to see Sam reach up and take the offered help. With Sam on his feet, however, Mary kept a firm grip on him and started walking slowly in the direction her eldest had stormed. Sam stared mystified at their hands as he moved alongside his mother.

"He won't burn the food." Sam said instead of addressing the hand-holding situation.

"Oh? How can you be sure?" Mary asked, curious about how her sons' relationship worked.

"Because we..." Sam broke off abruptly and looked forward to avoid Mary's gaze.

Castiel could feel the swirls of emotions emanating from the boy and opened himself to read it fully. Images of empty cupboards and cold soup flowed with feelings of hunger and restless fear. He heard the unspoken words Sam refused to say: _Because we know better than to waste food. Because we have been hungry and didn't know when or where our next meal would come from._

"Dean is a very good cook." Castiel spoke up. He received a surprised grateful smile from Sam. Mary looked suspicious, but decided not to push.

"I see. Does he cook a lot then?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah, he loves it now that we have a kitchen. You should have seen him when we first found the bunker and decided to stay. He nested for months."

Mary frowned, "Did you not have a kitchen before you moved here?"

"Well, I guess some of the motels had kitchenettes," Sam shrugged, "But we usually just got take-out or went to diners."

Her frown deepened, "And when you were growing up? Did your father teach him how to cook? Because the John I remember could barely boil water."

Sam's laugh sounded strained, "Uh, no. Dean didn't even trust him to heat up my food when there was a microwave."

Castiel saw Mary open her mouth a few times like she wanted to ask more questions but kept stopping herself. He knew that John had been a terrible father even though he'd meant well. The boys were raised as soldiers, not children. And he had the feeling that Mary would not be happy when she found out the details of the boys' early life.

The sounds of water running and pans clanging led them to the kitchen where they found Dean assembling what seemed to be a feast's worth of ingredients. The aroma of coffee and frying bacon filled the air. "Took you guys long enough," Dean spoke loudly over all the noise, "Coffee's ready. Cas, can you grab the flour and sugar from the pantry?"

"What are you making?" Mary asked as she let go of Sam's hand to pour herself a cup.

When Castiel returned with two canisters he saw Sam trying to reach for a mug from the stack next to the percolator.

"Pancakes! From scratch." Dean declared proudly. "Cas! Don't just stand there. Give me those."

Castiel set the flour and sugar on the counter without taking his eyes off Sam. The boy had pulled a stool over to the coffee stand and was now standing on his tiptoes to get the mug. When he saw him turn to grab the coffee pot, Castiel moved swiftly. "Sam," he said, looking down at the deceptively innocent face, "what are you trying to do?"

The others turned to look at them and Sam self-consciously withdrew his hand from the handle. "Um, getting coffee?"

"More like 'trying to get third degree burns.'" Dean grunted while rolling his eyes.

"Should you even be drinking coffee now?" Mary asked.

"What?!" Sam sputtered indignantly, "I...yes, I _always_ drink coffee!"

Mary raised an eyebrow, "In kindergarten?"

Sam's jaw dropped, "I'm not _in_ kindergarten! And I'm _not_ actually six."

"Actually," Dean spoke as he began measuring out ingredients for the pancake batter, "Sam did drink coffee in kindergarten. Pretty sure I did too."

"Why?" her voice was tense.

Hearing the change in her tone, Dean looked up to see her watching him over the rim of her mug. His eyes darted to Sam and Castiel. The angel was unreadable, but Sam looked as lost as he felt. Dean cleared his throat before addressing their mother again. "Um, well, I guess because we would sometimes stay up late. And it kept us from getting in trouble for falling asleep in class," he shrugged and looked down as he stirred the batter, "I was already making it for dad before I left for school, so I just started drinking it too." He didn't mention that it was often their only option besides tap water—orange juice didn't come free with their motel rooms and John refused to buy milk if they had no fridge. He also didn't bring up the fact that they usually stayed up late because their father would be gone hunting and they were too anxious to sleep, equally worried about monsters and social services.

Dean shook his head, clearing away the memories. Plastering a wide grin on his face, he tried to redirect the conversation, "So, how does everyone want their eggs?"

Mary pursed her lips, but allowed the change of topic and moved to help him with food prep.

With the crisis diverted, Castiel continued staring down at Sam who gave him a cheeky grin and held out his cup in a silent plea. Sighing, he took it. "Go sit down and I'll bring it to you."

"Thanks Cas!" Sam jumped down and scrambled into a chair. The coffee was placed in front of him and he frowned at the half-filled cup. "Hey..."

"Coffee can stunt the growth of children." Castiel stated calmly, sitting next to him.

"Did I look like my growth was stunted?" Sam asked with a scowl, but quickly started sipping the hot drink before it could be taken away. "And I'm _not_ a child."

Castiel studied the 'not-child' intensely. By human standards, the Winchester brothers had been adults for many years—far earlier than most people deemed healthy. In fact, both would be considered elderly if their ages were measured by memories. But Sam was incredibly young by angelic standards. It took several centuries just to reach adolescence.

"It is true that, as a human, you have been an adult for many years. However, to angels you are known as a fledgling—a very young child. I..." Castiel paused, wishing Sam would look at him, "I know this is not easy for you, Sam. You see yourself as an adult and as such, you expect to act and be treated a certain way. But everything is different now. _You_ are different now."

Sam finally looked up, "So what am I?"

"You are a child of Heaven." Castiel said seriously.

"That's all very sweet, Cas," Sam cringed, "but I need something more specific. Like, _how_ am I different? I mean, you're right—I keep expecting to react to things one way, but I don't! Instead, I'm crying or angry or scared. And it's not like I've never felt these things before, but I can usually control myself better. I could push it down and lock it away until there was time to deal with it. Now," he shook his head, " **now everything strong, loud, and I not**.." His throat burned, and he stopped speaking to avoid the indignity of more tears.

" **Samuel, when I say 'child of Heaven' I do not use it as a turn of phrase.** " Castiel rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, " **Grace is the raw essence of God, the fundamental fabric of creation. It makes you an incredibly powerful being because it connects us to the foundations of the universe. You exist in more dimensions, can travel through time-lines and realities, manipulate matter. But it takes time to learn and understand. It takes experience. Until then, the grace will probably be overwhelming.** "

"What are you two nerds talking about now?" Dean asked, placing platters of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table.

"Grace," Castiel answered simply. Dean nodded and left again to retrieve plates and silverware.

Mary joined them with the pancakes and a glass of milk which she set in front of Sam. "You mentioned grace yesterday," she said as she and Dean sat across from them, "I have to admit, I didn't understand any of it. I was pretty much stuck at 'angels are real' and 'God is a guy named Chuck.'"

Castiel explained the basics of grace while Dean served up the food. She asked a few questions about angels and Heaven and religion, but didn't stray into personal territory. No one wanted to spoil their first family breakfast with stories of trauma. And Castiel knew Mary was smart enough to recognize that her boys had definitely experienced numerous hardships. However, he didn't think she quite realized the extent of it all yet.

Throughout the meal, they told funny stories of prank wars, embarrassing hunting events, and good times with friends. Mary shared memories of them prior to her death—family outings, diaper disasters, and Dean as a toddler. The boys listened in awe, hanging on her every word. Their father had never discussed life before Mary. Within an hour, they knew more about their early life than they ever dreamed.

Castiel mostly observed, only chiming in occasionally. He watched Dean fret over how much food to give Sam and fuss over his mother like a hyper-vigilant waiter. Sam picked at his food, preferring to stare at Mary like she might disappear if he blinked. And Mary seemed content with being able to give her boys pieces of their history, bonding with them anew.

"So," Mary started when they had cleared all the dishes from the table, "when do we go shopping? Because I'm not sure how long I can go around wearing pants that are in constant danger of falling off. And Sam needs...well, everything, I guess." She looked over her youngest with a critical eye, taking in his round cheeks and soft curls in his hair. "How old do you think you are now, Sam? I mean, physically?"

"Um..." Sam looked down at his hands, but had no real memories to reference.

"Six, maybe six and a half." Dean said with confidence. Mary and Sam stared in surprise.

"How do you know?" asked Castiel when no one else spoke.

Dean reached over and tugged gently on one of Sam's curls. "His hair. It stopped curling by the time he was seven, and it wasn't this long until he was about six." He let go of the curl and smiled when it bounced up and hit Sam's nose. "Alright kids, let's get this shopping fiasco out of the way."


	4. (Re)Born Yesterday pt2

**(RE)BORN YESTERDAY**  
 **PART 2**

Sam sat in the back of the Impala with Castiel. He couldn't remember how long it was since he hadn't felt cramped sitting behind his brother. Now, his knees didn't even reach the edge of the seat, leaving his bare feet to dangle out in front of him. The seat belt cutting across his neck left him feeling choked. And he could barely see out the window. With nothing to look at except the car interior and patches of sky, the back seat felt like a cage.

To add insult to injury, he was still wearing the giant white t-shirt like a dress. The lack of clothes and diminished size left him feeling vulnerable. The prospect of crowded aisles, packed full of people and merchandise, turned his stomach.

Since Dean had left to fight the Darkness, everything seemed like a dream—or an extravagant hallucination. Just yesterday, his memories of the cage were blurred under the distance of years and layers of repression. He had the occasional dream and flashback, but there was always something else worthy of distraction. Now, he remembered the cage and Lucifer perfectly.

That thought had Sam digging a thumb into his left palm, but it didn't help. Holding his hand up to the light, he studied the flawless skin. The scar was missing. The place sliced open on glass shards and stitched back together by Dean was smooth. The wound he'd continuously re-opened to ward off hallucinations of Lucifer and discern what was real in a world rife with illusion was gone.

Sam pinched his palm harder, trying to force his mind to focus on the present. The pain was different without the scar tissue and damaged nerves. He tried pinching the inside of his wrist, arm, and elbow to see if they did a better job grounding him. While there wasn't the instant gratification of seeing Lucifer flicker out of existence, it did distract from the mounting anxiety. He moved on to his legs, methodically pinching from thigh to ankle. The skin turned pale white before growing dark red in each place. It became an experiment, cataloging the various sensations and visual side effects.

When changed his tactic to scratching, a large hand wrapped itself loosely around the offending fingers. Looking up, Sam found Castiel watching him in concern. " **Samuel, you are hurting yourself. Why?** "

Sam saw the others glance back at them, but they seemed to accept Sam and Castiel's Enochian conversations as private, and their attention didn't linger. " **I...** " he wasn't sure how best to explain, **"it helps?** "

" **What is it helping?** " Castiel pressed quietly as he gently rubbed the abused skin.

" **I know real. Keep me here, or wake me up. Pain more real. Different from...before.** " He clenched his free hand, digging the small fingernails into his palm.

" **Before?"**

Sam swallowed down nausea as his mind jumped to lakes of fire and raining lava. " **The Cage. Lucifer hurt me, but it different.** "

"Ah," Castiel sighed in understanding, " **Are you having trouble distinguishing between reality and memory?** "

Sam nodded silently, worried that he would either vomit or cry if he spoke. A sensation like cool water flowed over his skin, soothing away the nausea. Looking up, he caught the glow of grace for a second in Castiel's eyes before they returned to their normal blue.

The angel smiled sadly. **"Your human mind was incapable of dealing with the centuries of imprisonment and pain. Neither was your soul. By giving you his grace, our father has provided an opportunity for healing, but it will take time for you to properly process those memories. Be patient with yourself, and know that you are not alone on this path.** "

Sam was speechless with gratitude and slumped exhausted against Castiel's side. He had never really experienced the kind of support Castiel was offering from anyone besides Dean. And their relationship, while currently solid, had been shredded and burned countless times over the years. There were others who had been friends and allies—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, Kevin. But they were all gone. Dead because of their association with the Winchesters.

"Are you two done passing notes back there? Because we're here." Dean was giving Sam a measured look that said he didn't need to understand their words to know something was wrong. The brothers' had their own language comprised of gestures, nods, and glances.

Sam gave his best smile, but his brother saw right through it judging by the increased concern on Dean's face. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

"Wow, you boys must really hate shopping," Mary said, sensing the tension, "You'd think we were going into a nest of demons instead of Walmart."

"Actually, I think we'd prefer the demons." Dean said seriously.

Castiel got out of the backseat and walked around to the other side. He lifted Sam out for the car and settled him on his hip. The lack of shoes meant he had to submit to being carried again. Dean had fought to be the one to carry him, but Castiel won based on his lack of clothing knowledge and untiring strength.

Dean grabbed an abandoned cart from the parking lot and they all made their way inside. "Everyone remember our cover story?" he mumbled. They were going with the "tale of lost luggage and airsickness" as their excuse for carrying around a mostly-naked child.

Once inside, they headed straight for the kids' clothing area. For a while, Dean just grabbed packs of generic t-shirts, underclothes, and socks. Mary looked confused by the lack of input from the angel and her youngest. "Dean?" she started, unsure if she was overstepping her bounds, "How limited is our budget?"

"What?" he looked surprised by the question.

"I just...we haven't talked at all about finances, so I have no idea how we're paying for this." She gestured toward the small pile of plain clothes. "These prices are so much higher than they were thirty years ago!"

"Don't...there is no budget. No limit. Get whatever you want, and don't worry about money." Dean blushed, not quite ready to explain their credit card scams.

"Well, in that case," she picked through a rack of print shirts, "do you think Sammy would like something with a bit more...variety? Or color?"

"Um," Dean grabbed two sets of socks, comparing prices and quantity, "I don't know. Maybe?"

Mary stared at blue shirt with a cartoon starfish and tried to imagine her sons as children, "What did he like to wear when he was little before?"

"He's not actually a kid, though." Dean decided to go with the package that held more pairs. Sam had always gone through socks faster than any other clothing item.

"Yes, I know that," she glanced over to where Castiel was standing and studying a clothing display featuring superheroes with Sam, "The fact is I have no idea what he wore—as an adult or a kid. And if I understand the situation right, he isn't going to change back anytime soon which means he's going to wear these clothes until he outgrows them. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean stopped browsing and turned toward his mother, unsure of her point.

"Well, what is he comfortable wearing? What's his style or favorite color? It can't be plain white t-shirts."

"We, uh, we don't really make clothes a priority," he gave a strained laugh.

"Dean," she hesitated, "I don't really know my place here yet—especially with you boys. So if I'm overstepping, please feel free to tell me. But I've seen you with Sammy. I know you both grew up too soon, and that you probably took care of him more than most big brothers."

"So?" Dean asked defensively.

"So, if you know his exact age based solely on the length of his curls, why can't you tell me what he likes to wear?"

Her tone was gentle, but it still hit Dean like a slap. Images of child-Sam in ill-fitting hand me downs flashed in his mind. Seeing himself learning how to sew holes and patches to make old clothes last even longer, making belts out of blind cords stolen from motels, late night laundromat trips to get the unacceptable smells and stains out of the outfits fished from church free bins.

Dean looked Mary in the eye and hoped the fear of her judgment didn't show. "I guess because we've never done this. Not really. I mean, we've gone a couple times to get cheap suits for undercover work. And we hit up thrift stores once in a while to replace our stuff when it's ruined on hunts. But we grew up that way. Clothes were cheap or free, and we didn't usually have a choice. Especially Sam—he always got my clothes before anything else." He ran his fingers through his hair to ease the shame of trying to explain such a small part of their childhood to his mother. Knowing she would be horrified if she learned even half of the things they lived through as kids—and that he would be the reason if she ended up hating John. "You're right, though. I should know these things. Even if I couldn't get him new clothes, I should have known what he wanted."

"Sweetheart," she said gently, wrapping an arm around his back in a half-hug. She started to say something more, but stopped and smiled instead. "How about we ask him?"

Dean nodded, and relaxed at her easy affection. "Sammy! Get over here!" he called and watched Castiel walk them back to the cart.

"What?" Sam hissed in a whisper.

"Whoa there. I'd ask what got your panties in a twist, but I know you aren't wearing any," Dean teased with a frown, studying his brother, "Why are you whispering? This isn't some stealth mission."

"I..." Sam exhaled slowly, "Nothing, it's just a headache. What's going on?"

Dean glanced at Castiel but he just gave a small shake of his head. Whatever was going on, Dean would have to get it out of them later. "Pick out some clothes or I'm getting you all Frozen gear."

Sam looked in the cart and saw the packs of plain white clothing. "Those are fine," he said, shrugging.

Mary stepped forward, "They are fine as undershirts. But you need other things. Long-sleeves and dress shirts, pants and shorts, shoes..."

Sam's eyes widened with each item listed. Looking to Dean proved useless. His brother was just as uncomfortable, but nodded in firm agreement with Mary. "I don't need that many things..."

Castiel cleared his throat, "Sam likes neutrals and earth-tones—no designs or logos. He also prefers to dress in layers. And, if I might add, with his new...sensitivity, it would be best for him to wear softer, less abrasive cloth-types."

Mary smiled in gratitude, "I can work with that." She grabbed a couple long-sleeved gray shirts and held them up to Sam, checking the different sizes against him. "Dean, how about you grab some different pants and we'll see if we can't figure out his size before he tries them on."

Soon, their cart was filled with more clothes than either boy had owned at any one point in time. The staff at the dressing rooms were very sympathetic to their story of lost luggage, and allowed them to go ahead and open the underwear so he could try on pants. Mary left the boys to pick out her own clothes and quickly rejoined them.

Two hours later, Sam was beyond exhausted. Fully dressed for the first time since being shot, he still allowed Castiel to carry him. Mostly because he was half-asleep and Castiel was actively blocking him from absorbing the thoughts and feelings of the crowd. The angel had explained that Sam's grace was stronger than he'd anticipated. It was instinctively reaching out in new places to learn and explore everything, including the people. The first twenty minutes of their shopping trip had been agony in Sam's skull.

By the time they reached the Impala, Castiel insisted on continuing to hold his sleeping charge for the return drive. "As an angel, I can keep Sam far safer than some 'boosting' seat."

Dean knew Castiel would have done air-quotes if his arms weren't full of snoring mini-Sam. "Fine, it's on you to fix it if we get pulled over by a cop for endangering the life of a minor."

"Of course, Dean," Castiel said as he adjusted Sam so the boy was laying down more.

"Wonderful." Dean muttered.

* * *

Time eventually lost its meaning in the cage.

In the beginning, Sam was vaguely aware of its passing only because Lucifer was fond of anniversaries. Every decade marked the start of a new theme. Ice that crystallized the blood in his veins and caused body parts to shatter. Water continuously dripped onto his forehead, running down the straps keeping him immobile, and filling the room until he drowned. Razors, knives, chains, and whips wielded by visages of everyone Sam had ever known.

But the physical pain seemed child's play in comparison the Lucifer's mind games. During the brief time the archangel had inhabited his true vessel, he learned every secret, every fear, every thought Sam had ever experienced. And he utilized every single one.

His favorite was a variation of Gabriel's 'Mystery Spot.' Lucifer would trap Sam in time loops and force him to relive every trauma, every mistake, every shameful moment of his life.

Five years re-experiencing the day he left for Stanford and no matter what Sam did differently his father always found the letter. Twenty years watching Jess burning on the ceiling over his head. Fifteen years helplessly screaming from the back of his mind as he replayed the week he spent possessed by Meg. Thirty years dedicated to the actual 'Mystery Spot' Tuesday, now featuring new scenarios courtesy of Lucifer's imagination. Another ten years where Sam existed floating in an endless black void with only his hearing—and Dean's snarling voice repeating the dreaded voicemail from the day Sam released Lucifer from the cage.

Not much changed when Sam lost his physical body. The cage was a virtual reality prison where the inside was controlled by the archangels. And since Lucifer loved to hear Sam scream and beg, he manipulated reality and forced Sam to continue existing on a physical level. After a few years, Sam forgot he'd ever even lost his body.

Occasionally, Sam's soul was pushed to the side when Lucifer became distracted by Michael. The two archangels would scream in their native tongue and tear at each other. Their true forms filled the cage, leaving no space for Sam to hide. Their grace burned and shredded everything in its path.

Such was the case now. Michael had again found the corner where Lucifer had been 'teaching' Sam Enochian. The light bringer had Sam locked in an electrified dog cage. Every time Sam got a word wrong or spoke English, the wire walls channeled enough volts to cook grid patterns into his skin. The current lesson had been going on for seven years when Michael interrupted.

Sam huddled in the cage, watching in horror as the two brothers went at it. Michael abandoned his vessel to meet Lucifer mid-flight in a blinding clash of grace and rage. But Sam stared at the still figure lying broken on the ground just a few feet away. Adam's body was twisted and decomposing. The only comfort Sam found was that it also appeared to be vacant. He only hoped that his little brother's soul had vacated when Castiel had holy fire-bombed Michael in the cemetery.

An eternity passed before Sam heard Lucifer return, once again taking the form of his previous vessel Nick. He looked at the crumpled vessel vacated by Michael with a look of revulsion. " **How rude of him, leaving his trash here to litter our classroom.** " His foot shot, and the kick sent Adam's body flying far enough away that Sam couldn't see where it landed.

Lucifer turned to smirk at Sam's shaking form. " **Well, my favorite pet, shall we continue?** "

* * *

The drive back to the bunker was quiet but pleasant. Dean's tape of choice was playing softly to not wake Sam. Occasionally, someone would speak, but mostly they all kept to their thoughts.

A few miles from the bunker, Castiel felt Sam's body tense. A whimper escaped through thin lips. Years of watching over the boys' sleep had trained him to recognize the signs of nightmares and deal with them before they took solid hold. He tried to calm him using a small amount of grace, hoping Sam would recognize him. It was met with a sob as the boy twisted and fought in his arms. "Dean! Pull over!" Castiel ordered as he yanked back his grace and tried using his hands to soothe Sam.

At the first sound of distress, Dean snapped off the music. A glance in the mirror showed his friend's mounting concern and he immediately pulled onto the dirt shoulder. The road to the bunker was through a heavily wooded area, and traffic was thankfully rare. It definitely worked in their favor when Castiel bolted from the car and ran with Sam to the edge of the woods. Once there, he sat on a fallen tree and hunched over the boy, rocking slightly.

Dean and Mary jumped out of the car in time to see arcs of electricity run from Sam to Castiel to the ground. "Stay back!" Castiel shouted as he realized Sam was lashing out in his sleep. Wild tendrils of grace shocked his wings like a low-volt taser—strong enough to hurt, but not incapacitate.

Panicked screams coincided with the Impala's engine roaring to live. Then the headlights shattered in a blaze of sparks and glass, and the engine fell silent. Castiel had no time to answer the others' shouts and questions as he raised his wings to buffer the unrestrained grace.

Gathering Sam close, he caught images and sensations pouring off the boy. Saw the cage and understood why his grace was mimicking electricity. He cradled Sam to his chest with one arm and placed his free hand over the boy's forehead, trying to wake him with words and touch. " **Wake up, Samuel. You are dreaming. Wake up and see that you are safe. You are safe with your brother and family. Wake up!** " Castiel continued a litany of reassurances while he again tried to use his own grace to control the chaos erupting from the boy. Sam fought against him, kicking and scratching where he could, but Castiel didn't stop until he felt the boy respond. The frantic grace slowly settled under a layer of his own, but Sam continued to fight with his body.

The sound of a throat clearing drew Castiel's attention and he was unsurprised to see Dean had ignored his warning to stay away. "What's happening, Cas?" he asked, voice shaking with concern.

"We must wake him up," the angel explained, "I couldn't stop the nightmare in time and his grace became violent."

Dean glanced at the scattered glass on the ground. "Can I touch him?"

"Yes, I've got it controlled for now, but he needs to wake up. I may not be strong enough to contain it for long." Castiel's voice was strained. "Perhaps he will respond better to you."

Dean nodded and moved closer to his brother. He covered a flailing fist with one of his own hands and placed his other onto his brother's chest. "Come on, Sammy, time to wake up. Rise and shine! Open your eyes, come on!" He used his knuckles to rub hard across Sam's sternum, "Hey, Sam, wake up!" Dean barked his words, infusing as much authority and command into his voice as possible.

Sam took a shuddering breath and jolted awake. Dean immediately gentled his touch and simply rested his palm over his brother's pounding heart. He watched Sam's wide eyes dart around, uncertainty written all over his face at the strange sight of trees and foliage.

" **Real?** " he rasped dryly, looking between Dean and Castiel.

" **Yes, this is real. Your brother and I are both real, and you are no longer trapped. You are safe.** " Castiel brushed the boy's sweat-drenched hair away from his face before continuing in English. "Would you like to sit up?"

Sam's body tensed at the change and looked at Castiel in suspicious horror. " **Trick?!** " The word was an accusation and question.

" **What do you believe is a trick?** " Castiel asked.

For a moment, the angel didn't think Sam would answer. The boy was clearly torn, still scared from his memories and unsure of this reality. " **Wrong words mean punishment.** "

Castiel wanted to weep. Why had they never asked Sam about his experiences in the cage? How could they possibly heal the vast number of memories festering in his mind? _Father, I do not know if I am best suited to help Samuel. Please, grant us wisdom and strength. This child is powerful and broken, and I fear I will not be enough to see him through this._ He sent up the silent prayer as he slowly re-positioned Sam more upright, hoping it would help him feel more awake and in control. "We do not punish each other here, Samuel. You may speak in any language you wish. However, your brother and mother do not understand Enochian." He heard Dean make a choked sound as the man moved to sit next to them on the tree trunk.

Dean gathered his brother's tiny fists into his own. He used his thumbs to rub Sam's palms, easing the muscles in the clenched hands. It drew Sam's attention away from Castiel and he had to force a smile when he saw uncertainty in those hazel eyes. "Hey there, kiddo. Are you awake now?"

Sam stared for a moment before nodding.

Dean's smile grew warmer, more genuine. "Good. That's good," he sighed in relief.

"Is he okay?" Mary's voice was low and shaky.

"I think so," Dean turned toward his mother and saw her edge closer to them. The boy hadn't moved and his eyes were still glazed in shock.

Mary joined them, taking off her new jacket and passing it to Dean to place over his brother's shoulders. "We should get him back to the bunker. It might be easier on him being in a familiar place."

"Good plan. What do you say, Sammy?" Dean released Sam's hands and held out his arms in invitation. They all held their breaths when there was no immediate response, but eventually Sam leaned forward and reached for his brother. Dean picked him up and got to his feet. "Cas, can you drive us back? If the car starts?"

Castiel gave Dean a startled look, but the protectiveness pouring off the hunter let him know Dean wasn't going to relinquish his hold on Sam anytime soon. "Of course, Dean."

It took a few tries, but the Impala did start. Dean sat in the backseat, muttering reassurances in Sam's ear as they drove the final ten minutes to the bunker. The boy trembled the entire way as he stared unseeing out the window at the passing trees. Mary spent the ride turned around in her front seat so she could keep an eye on them.

As they pulled into the Men of Letter's garage, Dean was startled when Castiel slammed on the brakes. "What the hell, Cas?" Castiel's body was tightly wound and his angel blade suddenly appeared in his hand. The sight of it stopped Dean from commenting on mishandling his car and went on high alert. "What is it?"

"There is someone in the bunker." Castiel reported.

"Who? Is it those British bastards again?" Dean shifted Sam enough to pull his gun out.

"It is not human," Castiel frowned in concentration, "I can't identify them, but I know it's an angel. I can feel their grace."

"Do you think it's..." Dean couldn't say Lucifer's name. Not with Sam clinging to him in leftover terror caused by memories of the archangel.

Castiel seemed to hear the unspoken name anyway, shaking his head as he carefully got out of the car. "No. I would be able to recognize him now."

"Bring me the keys. We need weapons from the trunk." Dean moved around to the back of the car. He mentally sorted through their inventory to figure out what would be the best choice with which to arm Mary. "How are you with a blade, mom?"

"I may be a little rusty, but I always preferred them to guns," she said in full hunter mode.

Dean opened the trunk and swore at the dozens of shopping bags covering the weapons compartment. However, before he could reach for them Sam stirred in his arms. The boy's body stopped shaking and his eyes focused on the door leading into the bunker.

"Sam?" Dean asked, unsure of the change in his brother. Castiel moved to stand in front of them as the door opened. They stared at the figure who slowly walked out.

"It's about time you kids got back. Do you know that your kitchen is completely lacking in any real junk food? Seriously, how do you even live?" The man leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Whiskey-gold eyes twinkled with humor and confidence.

Castiel almost dropped his angel blade as he took a step forward. "Gabriel?"


	5. (Re)Born Yesterday pt3

**(RE)BORN YESTERDAY** **  
PART 3**

No one moved.

Sam felt Castiel's disbelief and Dean's protective rage and Mary's confusion all hit like a shock wave. But Gabriel—he radiated pure power. It filled every inch of space around them, tingling along Sam's skin and charging the air. He dug his fingers into Dean's shirt and pressed himself as close as he could to his brother. Encounters with archangels never went well for them. He watched, barely breathing, as the deceptively shorter man walked toward them.

"Gabriel?" Castiel repeated. His wings rose up as he moved into a protective stance.

"Whoa there, Cassie!" Gabriel held his hands up in mock surrender, "Is that any way to greet your favorite big brother?"

"How are you here?" Castiel demanded, " _Why_ are you here?"

"Well, you see, that is a funny story." Laughter echoed in the garage as he circled closer. "There I was, dead after sacrificing myself for the sake of humanity and puppies. And the next thing I know, BOOM BABY!" Sam jumped as Gabriel's voice rose unexpectedly, "Dad is standing there, smiling at me. And the weirdest part of this whole situation wasn't Dad wearing Chuck-the-prophet, or that we were reuniting in his own personal bar, or even the fact that I was _alive._ No, the weirdest part was seeing Auntie Amara standing next to him. _Also smiling_!" He paused as though he was unable to believe his own story.

"I thought Chuck said he didn't have the juice to bring him back." Dean whispered to Castiel and turned his body to shield Sam from the archangel's view.

"Uniting his power with Amara would be more than enough to recreate an archangel. I imagine they could create entire universes together without much effort." Castiel replied without taking his eyes off of Gabriel.

"I get the feeling that you guys definitely have a more interesting story to tell." Gabriel smirked at Mary for a second, then turned toward Dean and froze. The humor fell away, replaced by a strange seriousness and awe, and Castiel edged closer toward Dean.

Sam's eyes locked on Gabriel and he felt his breathing grow fast and shallow. As much as Dean felt like safety, he knew better. Nothing was safe when an archangel had you in its sights. Taking advantage of Dean's distraction, Sam shoved and slipped out of his brother's grasp.

"Sam, no!" Dean reached for him, but Sam was running as soon as his feet hit the ground.

He tore past the Men of Letters' cars, grateful to be wearing shoes as he skidded outside onto the gravel driveway. In the back of his mind, he knew it was hopeless to try and outrun anyone—let alone an angel and archangel. But the cage was deafening and closing in around him. In his centuries of experience being the plaything of Lucifer, he never gave up on a chance to escape. So, he ran.

Voices and footsteps followed him, but he didn't turn around. The rush of wings filled the air just as his body collided with a familiar beige trench coat. Suite-clad legs folded and Sam's vision filled with blue eyes. " **Samuel...** " was all the angel got out before furious tiny fists connected with his face.

Sam let out a primal scream, blinded by the rage of being stopped. Arms wrapped around him from behind and he tried to turn and fight the new embrace. The lack of grace made a part of his mind pause long enough for a distinctly feminine voice to reach his ears.

"Shh, shh, I got you, baby. It's okay, Sammy, I got you. Shh, that's it. Just breathe for me. Can you do that? Just slow down and breathe." The voice was soothing, and Sam found he wanted to listen and follow what it said. Footsteps crashed through the foliage behind them and he tensed, ready to run and fight again. "No, baby, it's just Dean. Just your brother. He protects you, right? Dean, come around here where he can see you."

Ragged breaths tore through Sam's throat with a growl, teeth grinding and body vibrating with the need to flee. The footsteps slowed as they got closer until his brother appeared, kneeling by his side. "Sammy," Dean was out of breath, "Hey kiddo, we gotta stop meeting like this." He reached a hand to his little brother's face but yanked it back when Sam growled even harder. "Whoa there dude! Look at me, Sam. Who am I? Hmm? Come on, you know who I am."

Sam snarled instead of answering and tried to twist out of the arms again. But while the body holding him was soft, the grip was strong and unmoving. No one spoke for a while. They stayed still and silent as Sam expended all his energy on trying to escape. As the minutes ticked by, the boy's body gradually grew more and more weak until he eventually slumped against his captor in defeat.

"Okay, it's okay, I've got you. Shh. Good boy, just relax. No one will hurt you or take you." Mary kept up a whispered litany of praise and promises until she felt her son's breathing even out. She relaxed her grasp and ran her hands over Sam's arms and back. She had learned how to deal with the occasional war flashback when John had first returned from the service. And while she would never grab or restrain him during the episode, he'd let her know that gentle touches and words afterwards helped to ground him back in the present. "Talk to him Dean."

"Hey there Sammy," Dean said with a tired smile, "You back with us again? I can't believe I ever doubted your ability to hunt while small, because damn kid, you fight dirty! I swear, you are like a tiny ninja or something." His smile grew stronger and Sam felt himself trying to return it. Dean ruffled his curls. "That's my boy. I was worried I'd have a feral puppy for a brother instead of a kid. Then I would have had to get those weird puppy pads and train you to fetch beer out of the fridge for me..."

"Dean!" Mary sounded torn between the need to be reassuring for her youngest and horrified at her eldest's dark humor.

"What?" Dean asked, still completely focused on Sam. He fussed with the boy's clothes more than necessary, straightening and smoothing the fabric to reassure both of them. That action plus the familiar gruff banter cut through Sam's panic more than anything else ever could, and he kicked a few leaves onto Dean's knees. The scowl he was met with only served to melt it further. Sam mustered up a weak bitch-face in return and fisted his hands in Dean's shirt collar. " **Treat me like dog, I chew you shoes and poop on dead man robe,** " he croaked out, then dissolved into a coughing fit.

"What?" Dean asked again as Mary patted the boy's back, "Cas, what did he say to me? I know that tone—he totally just said something bitchy...I mean bratty." Mary's stern look was as impressive as Sam's on his best day.

Castiel coughed, and when Dean turned to look he caught a blush over top the flabbergasted expression. "He said if you treat him like a dog, he will 'chew on your shoes' and," he looked at Sam questioningly, "'poop on the dead man robe?' I do not understand."

Dean whirled back on Sam, "You wouldn't dare."

Sam managed a grin that said _try me_. Dean just rolled his eyes and lifted him into his arms. For a moment he just held him close, grateful for the immediate crisis to be over. "You scared me," he murmured as he walked a short distance away from the others. A second later he added, "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam answered in a hoarse whisper that made Dean tighten his arms just a little more.

"You really okay?" Dean wanted to pull back to look at Sam's face, but the need to keep him close was greater. Sam's head nodded, then switched to shaking. "Was that a yes and a no? Or are you just changing your vote?"

"I—I'm not okay." Sam ended up being the one to lean back so they were face to face. "I don't know if I can do this, Dean. I mean, this is worse than when the wall broke and I had hallucinations constantly. What if I can't handle it? What if I end up back in a hospital again with L-Lu-Lucifer as a roommate? I feel like I'm going crazy!" Tears filled his vision and blurred Dean's face.

"Hey, none of that! We're the freakin' Winchesters, man. Yesterday, we stopped the total annihilation of the damn universe with nothing but our supreme ability to have chick-flick moments!"

Sam gave a tired laugh, "Yeah, okay. I guess you're right."

"Please," he huffed, then continued in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, " _I know you're right, Dean. You're always right because you're older and wiser and more handsome._ "

"I do _not_ sound like that!" Sam squeaked with a slap to Dean's shoulder.

" _I'm sorry it's taken me so long to see the error of my ways. However can I make it up to you?_ "

"I _will_ shit on that damn robe!" Sam warned.

Dean gasped, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Sam's head turned quickly to check if Mary had heard him, but she was talking with Castiel. "Yeah, do I know how to make a great first impression or what? I can't even imagine what she thinks of me at this point."

"Look at me," Dean said, suddenly serious. Sam ducked his head, but Dean wasn't having it, "No, Sam, look at me." Miserable eyes met Dean's clear green gaze, "Mom loves you. Always has, always will, no matter your age or size. She doesn't know anything about us or what we've gone through, and her first instinct is still to protect us. When I first found her, she didn't know who I was—didn't even remember dying until I told her. Right now, she is trying to adjust to a world and family that has moved on for 33 years without her. And we are still her priority. When you ran from the garage, she _beat me_ getting to you."

"That's because you live off cheeseburgers and pie." Sam said, fighting back fresh tears.

"Bitch." Dean whispered, drawing Sam back to him.

Sam relaxed against Dean's chest again, placing his ear over the steady drum of his brother's heartbeat. "Jerk," he said just as quiet.

* * *

Castiel kept an eye on the brothers as they talked to each other privately. He was relieved to hear Sam speaking English again—or speaking at all, for that matter. Mary was shaking as the adrenaline worked its way out of her system. He bent down and picked up her jacket that had fallen off Sam in the struggle. Handing it to her, she gave him a weak smile of gratitude and huddled into it.

"So," she began slowly, "who is that guy back in the garage? I heard you call him Gabriel, and he called you brother, so am I right in assuming..."

Castiel sighed, "He is the archangel Gabriel. He died several years ago, killed by Lucifer during the apocalypse."

"Excuse me?" she demanded, "Apocalypse? And do you mean the _actual_ Lucifer? As in Satan?!"

"Um," Castiel stalled, unsure how much to tell her without the boys present, "Yes?"

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I am referring to Lucifer, the fallen archangel who is now commonly called 'Satan' by humans. And the apocalypse was started, but we managed to stop it as you can see by the fact that the earth is still here." Castiel kept his eyes on the boys, avoiding Mary's gaze out of shame. He knew none of them looked forward to her finding out the details of the past few decades, but it was clear they would have to discuss it soon. She was too intelligent and observant not to pick up on the fact that both Sam and Dean had been severely damaged by their past experiences—and she was too loving and protective to not demand an explanation.

Mary let out a long breath and followed his gaze to her boys. Dean was perfect with her youngest—Sammy had his normal color back, and was talking and laughing. She tried not to feel the stab of jealousy or regret that she wasn't the one to provide comfort and safety for them. They could only go forward from the present.

"Is Gabriel a threat?" she asked.

"I don't know," Castiel turned to look back toward the bunker but couldn't see his brother, "He has a mixed history with your sons. The first few times they met he was masquerading as a Trickster. He kept trying to teach them lessons—especially Sam. It wasn't until Lucifer was released that they discovered his true identity. But he _did_ die protecting them, and he gave them the information needed to lock Lucifer away again. For what it's worth, he never tried to kill them in the past." Castiel decided to leave out the part where Gabriel had killed Dean hundreds of times while trapping Sam in a time-loop.

"Do you know why he's here? I mean, if God brought him back and he has all of heaven and earth at his disposal, why would Gabriel come here?" Mary felt like she was trying to see an entire picture with just a few puzzle pieces.

"I will have to ask him." Castiel said. Turning back to the brothers, he saw Dean looking at them. Castiel waved them over. "How is Sam?"

"'m fine, Cas." Sam mumbled into Dean's shirt. Lifting his head, he saw a small bruise on Castiel's jaw. "Oh! I'm sorry I hit you."

Castiel smiled and the bruise disappeared, "It is nothing, Sam. I am glad you are alright."

"So, what's the plan?" Dean asked, knowing they would need to return soon. The sun was setting and the temperature was already starting to drop.

Before anyone else could speak, Sam started, "I want to go back now."

"Sam..." Dean protested with a grimace.

"No, I think it will be fine. I mean, I know I panicked, but I wasn't expecting him. I still wasn't all the way awake from that nightmare in the car, and my thoughts were everywhere, and when I felt his grace I just...panicked." He played with the buttons on Dean's shirt to try and hide his embarrassment, "But I don't think he's here to hurt us. Especially if Chuck and Amara were the ones to bring him back. And I kinda want to hear why he's here."

Dean sighed dramatically, "I'll never understand the weird soft-spot for that dick. Even after all the crap he put us through, you still wanted to make him an ally. And that was before we knew he was Gabriel, the runaway archangel."

"Well, he saved us, didn't he? He sacrificed his life so we could escape _and_ he told us how to win. Besides, God and his sister seem to be bringing back the people who can help us." Sam looked pointedly at their mother who smiled back.

"Perhaps if I shielded you from his grace, the encounter will be less difficult for you," offered Castiel.

Sam nodded and they could almost see the wheels turning in his head, "Yeah, that was what made me run. Maybe if you block it and he, I dunno, dialed it back a bit then we could have a meltdown-free conversation." The blush on Sam's face made it look like he was suffering from a severe sunburn.

Castiel reached for the boy, and Dean reluctantly allowed the transfer. " **Do not feel ashamed,** " he whispered to Sam, " **You have survived suffering like no other creature on this earth. And instead of becoming bitter or angry, you are stronger and kinder.** " Sam smiled, not entirely convinced. But he appreciated the words knowing Castiel believed them.

"Okay, let's go." Dean said, poised for battle.

"Just a second," Castiel stopped him, "let me tell Gabriel of our plans. It may help to make things less confrontational." He closed his eyes and spoke to his brother through his grace.

 _Gabriel?_

 _Yeah, bro?_ Gabriel's voice sounded eager and hesitant at once.

 _The Winchesters and I are returning so we can all sit down and talk. If possible, I need you to reign your grace in as much as you can._

 _Um, okay. Why?_

 _Because Sam is very sensitive to it. We must minimize his exposure until he is able to better shield himself on his own._

 _Oh yeah, we definitely have to talk._

 _Gabriel..._

 _Okay, okay! I'm dialing down my awesomeness. Just get back here!_

"What is he doing?" Mary asked, bewildered at Castiel's blank expression.

"We call it 'angel radio.' He can talk to the other angels telepathically." Dean explained.

"He is agreeable to our requests, and seems quite eager for our return." Castiel reported.

"Well, I guess it's time to face the music." Dean said.

"As long as it isn't Asia." Sam muttered with a huff as he pressed his face into Castiel's shoulder.

* * *

The entered the garage to see Gabriel standing nervously in the exact spot they'd left him. He seemed smaller now, more contained. Sam was relieved to feel the absence of grace in the air and it allowed him to look at the youngest archangel without pure panic. He saw a strange smile form and his golden eyes widen when they locked on Sam.

Dean and Mary stood on either side of Castiel, ready to intervene if needed. Sam felt Castiel's arms tighten as though to remind him that he was safe. It was a little embarrassing how everyone felt the need to protect him now that he was small, but after several emotional meltdowns he supposed it was warranted.

"Oh my dad," Gabriel breathed, "Is he...that really is Sam, isn't it?"

Sam nodded, but didn't say anything.

Dean stepped forward. "Yeah, it is. And you are going to keep your distance, asshole. Understand?"

Sam kicked Dean in the ribs with his toe in a reminder to keep civil.

Gabriel laughed, "Haven't changed a bit, have you Deano. Still just a modern day caveman bursting with aggression."

"Only when my family is threatened." Dean growled.

Gabriel raised his hands in surrender. Then his smile faded and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I promise, I am not here to threaten your family. Especially since it appears that your family is now part of my family too." The look of awe flooded his eyes again as he stared at Sam.

Mary placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, "Why don't we go inside? I can make some coffee and we can all talk."

Dean's body relaxed slightly and he nodded. "Cas, you and Sam go ahead and get settled in the library. We'll be right behind you."

"Dean..." Sam started, but his brother cut him off.

"Sam, I'm not letting him out of my sight and he's not getting close to you until we know we can trust him. Which may be never." Dean directed the last part to Gabriel. The archangel pouted, and looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end nodded his agreement. "Good, we're all agreed. You two go now. We have to unload the car anyway."

Castiel moved toward the bunker, keeping an eye on his brother. _Gabriel, I know you are impatient to have all your questions answered—especially about Sam. But a lot has happened since you died and rushing anything could hurt him. And if Sam gets hurt, it won't just be Dean you'd have to deal with._

Instead of getting defensive, Gabriel relaxed. _Yeah, I can see that. I can see scars that go way below skin level on both of these boys that weren't there last time I saw them. I swear to you, Castiel, I am not here to cause anyone anymore harm._

Castiel made his way through the war room and into the library. _I am looking forward to hearing what Father said to you after bringing you back—I know you do not make promises lightly._ He heard Gabriel snort over their mental link.

 _Cassie, you got no idea._

* * *

Sam sat next to Castiel in the middle of the couch, lost in thought as they waited for the others. Gabriel was always a source of conflict for him. The archangel had repeatedly messed with them in horrible and unforgettable ways. Sure, their first encounter was admittedly hilarious and once they'd learned how horrible the Trickster's victims had really been they stopped being indignant over their deaths.

But the Mystery Spot—that was a whole different ballgame. Sam still struggled every time he heard "Heat of the Moment" come on the radio. After the first few times, Dean had learned to switch the station or get them out of whatever public place they were in to avoid the fallout. Lucifer's games in the cage had only served to cement the experience in his mind and push it to a completely different level of trauma.

TV land was a mixed bag of humor and hurt and frustration. Some of the scenarios were funny to look back on, but at the time they were so wrapped up in the apocalypse that guilt and anger overshadowed their capacity for amusement. Then, to find out that the Trickster was actually the archangel Gabriel had been a hard blow to Sam.

Sam had entered that warehouse hopeful for an alliance with the Trickster. He knew Dean saw it as yet another case of him trying to work with a monster, but they were desperate and losing ground. When Gabriel's true identity was revealed, Sam had allowed himself to cling to the possibility that there could be _one_ angel to take his side. Because every single angel he'd met up to that point had instantly seen him as an abomination. Even Castiel, who eventually became a friend and ally, had hesitated to so much as shake his hand. But Gabriel only wanted them to say yes to Michael and Lucifer—only saw them as pawns in a game he wanted to end.

" **You are very quiet, little one.** " Castiel said after several minutes of silence.

Sam made a face at the nickname , but warmed at the affection. " **I am thinking.** "

" **Are you worried?** "

" **No. Yes. I not sure. Worried why Gabriel here. What he do.** " Sam chewed his lip as he kept watch for the others. They could hear the rustle of plastic bags echoing from the garage and Gabriel laughing.

" **I do not believe he will harm any of us. He seems genuinely agreeable to our conditions and I do not think our father would return him to life so he can continue as a trickster.** " Castiel put his arm around the boy's shoulders and drew him closer to his side.

Sam stiffened for a second—having spent most of his life isolated left him unused to constant touches. Now, everyone kept carrying him and hugging him. He forced himself to relax and struggled for the right words. " **I know. But what he think of me? Now is different. Angels accept different?** "

" **I cannot speak for the entire host. But I can tell you that Gabriel was known for his love of children—both human and fledglings alike. Before the creation of the earth, he was often seen playing with them and teaching them. He was a prankster long before humans existed. And he was a fierce protector of human children. There was more than one occasion when Heaven had to reel him in after he started smiting those he saw as harmful to young ones.** "

Sam smiled at the image of Gabriel as the playful big brother to scores of little angels. It was easier to understand the evolution of archangel-to-trickster if one factored in the righteous sense of justice with the devastation of witnessing his beloved family torn apart. Especially having witnessed it to a certain extent within his own family. John Winchester's devotion to his wife and children had twisted into a life dedicated to revenge regardless of the cost to his sons.

His thoughts were interrupted by the bizarre sight of Gabriel effortlessly carrying what appeared to be at least two dozen shopping bags, followed by Mary with the few groceries in one hand. Dean hovered protectively like a hawk clutching an angel blade from the trunk. Mary looked through the entrance to the library, smiling at them on the couch. "I'm going to run these into the kitchen before the food spoils and start some coffee. Do you two want anything?"

"Coffee sounds great," Sam said automatically.

She frowned, "Are you sure?

Sam felt his jaw clench, "Why, because I'm _small_?"

Mary's frown changed into a full-body posture Sam had only ever seen Dean direct at him—it was the look Sam affectionately called "mom-mode" and he now realized just how very effective and intimidating it was coming from his actual mother. "No, not _just_ because you are small, although we could have a conversation about how certain things will now have a greater effect on you with a diminished physical body. But we can save that for a time when we aren't about to have a conference with some newly resurrected archangel who clearly has a history with everyone here except myself," she took a deep breath, "No, I'm asking if you are sure because you have had a very difficult day emotionally and caffeine can make anxiety worse."

Sam gulped and brought his knees up to his chest in an attempt to ward off the twist of shame and disappointment in his stomach. He felt his cheeks burning, "I—I'll just take a water. Please."

Mary softened at the change, worried she had overstepped her bounds. "Sammy..."

"How about some hot chocolate? Mine is the best in at least three universes. I could make it while you handle the coffee." Gabriel offered with that strange mix of eagerness and hesitance from before—like he desperately wanted them to accept him but had long forgotten how to use anything other than power and charm to get what he wanted.

Sam shook his head without looking up, "No, thanks, water is fine." There was no way his stomach could handle anything rich or sweet at this point.

"Okay...I'll be right back," she paused before leaving, then turned to Gabriel with a small smile, "Maybe you could make it for us tomorrow? I mean, if you're still here and don't have to leave. And Dean doesn't try to stab you." Her oldest son was still hovering with the blade, but Gabriel just laughed.

"Oh, I like you!" he said delightedly, then leaned in for a exaggerated whisper, "And it wouldn't be the first time he's stabbed me. In fact, I might even be a little disappointed if he doesn't try."

Mary gave him a bizarre look, "I really hope you explain that when I get back."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said as he ushered Mary toward the kitchen, "Don't worry, Mom, I'm sure he'll regale us all with how powerful and awesome he is. Believe me, I'd be surprised if _you_ don't stab him by the end of the night."

"Deano, you _almost_ wound me!" Gabriel scoffed as he deposited the bags on the war room table. "Wait, did you say 'mom?' As in Mary Winchester? What in dad's name have you guys been up to?"

Dean just grabbed the archangel by the scruff of his jacket, dragged him down the few steps into the library, and pushed him into the seat of the couch across from Sam and Castiel. "Park it, short-stuff."

"So aggressive..." Gabriel muttered as he straightened his jacket. His eyes fell on the two in front of him and he leaned back into the cushions. The seriousness was back as he studied them, tilting his head to better focus on Sam.

Sam felt uneasy in the heavy silence as they waited for Mary's return. He needed a distraction from the painful exchange with his mother, and luckily one was sitting not four feet away. Now that Gabriel's grace wasn't overpowering the room and pressing against his skin, it was easier to concentrate on specific details. He was strange to feel how he differed from the other angels he'd known.

Michael and Lucifer were complete opposites to one another—one burned hot as the sun, the other cold as deep space. But both were sharp enough to effortlessly shred through his soul. Gadreel had been heavy and smothering, like drowning in mud. And Castiel's was like a perfect rain—always running either warm or cool, never too extreme.

This was the first time Sam really felt Gabriel's grace. Their previous encounters were all before he had gained experience in sensing the essence of angels. Now, he was in the presence of his third archangel, and it was not what he expected. Gabriel's grace was like the wind. It swirled through the smaller man's vessel in a powerful vortex of playful energies.

Sam gasped as a wave of dizziness made the world tilt. The hand resting on his shoulder moved up to his forehead and the sensation faded into a throbbing ache. " **Try not to focus on him. You are causing your grace to reach out. I may not be able to shield you if it is actively seeking him.** "

" **Sorry! I not know. Just thoughts!** " Sam clenched his eyes closed and tried to ignore the feeling of failure.

Castiel heard his thoughts and ran fingers through the sweaty curls. A glance at Gabriel showed his surprise at hearing Sam speak Enochian and there was an undercurrent of concern echoing through their connection. Dean came and sat beside Gabriel, turning slightly to keep an eye on everyone.

" **You have not failed at anything tonight, Samuel. It will take a lot of time and effort before you are capable of controlling these abilities.** " He had the feeling that he would be repeating these words often in the near future.

" **No, I failed. I rude and...and...** " Sam broke off, not having the words to express his sense of guilt. He saw his mother's stern face directed at him and the crushing knowledge that he had already disappointed her.

" **You did not disappoint your mother, Samuel,** " Castiel reassured as Sam shook his head in denial, " **Hush, you are tired and in pain. You have experienced several life-altering events in less than a week—any one of which would consume even the strongest person. We will all need to be patient with each other as we adjust. And patient with ourselves.** "

 _Castiel, what the hell happened after I died?_ Gabriel's voice whispered in Castiel's mind.

 _Too much, brother, too much._ Castiel sadly replied.

Mary's entrance was a welcome break to the heaviness of the room. Gabriel started to stand and help her, but Dean pushed him back down as he rose instead. She had brought a tray with their coffees, a bottle of water, and small dishes with cream and sugar.

Sam sipped the cold liquid and was grateful for the way it doused the burning in his throat. He sat huddled against Castiel with one arm wrapped around his knees. When Mary sat on his other side, he almost jumped. She seemed to read everything he was thinking and feeling on his face.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," she said softly as the others fixed their drinks.

Sam turned in surprise, unsure how to respond to a parent's apology. "No, it's my fault. I should have just listened instead of being all defensive. You were right—the coffee would make me more on edge. And the water feels better on my throat."

Mary smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on his temple. It calmed the swirls of conflict and loosened the tightness in his chest. She turned to Gabriel, "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I am ready for some answers."

Gabriel froze with his coffee halfway to his mouth, "Right," he said, carefully setting it back down on the table, "I guess that's my cue." Taking a deep breath, he began, "Well, the last thing I remembered was Lucifer stabbing me through the chest with his blade and then a whole lot of nothing. Archangels don't go to purgatory, or some special 'angel heaven.' No, we are made from the same fundamental fabric of the universe and when we die, we disintegrate back into the ether. So, when I suddenly found myself standing in a bar with Dad and Aunt Amara—well, 'surprised' is an understatement.

"We, uh, talked for a long time. Once we got past the crying-laughing-hugging portion of the conversation, he dove right into the 'why I brought you back to life' part. Apparently," he gave Dean and Castiel a pointed look, "all the other archangels are now indisposed except Lucifer. Well, he's sorta indisposed. He's circling a potential vessel right now, so he could very well be back in the game at any time."

Sam gasped as Castiel and Dean both straightened in their seats. After Amara had expelled Lucifer from Castiel's vessel, none of them were sure he was even alive. In all the craziness of the last couple days, he had almost forgotten about the possibly-rogue archangel. But to hear he had not only survived, but could soon be back in a vessel was terrifying.

"What do you mean he's found a vessel?" Dean demanded.

"Do you know where?" Castiel followed and then the two continued to fire off questions, talking over each other while Gabriel just blinked and tried to follow.

Sam stared blankly at his knees. All he could see was Lucifer's face—Nick's face—laughing at him from a great height. He stood no chance against the devil now. Not when he couldn't even out-run his mother. He felt someone take the water bottle from his grasp and gently hold his hand. Turning, he saw his mother's concerned eyes taking in the explosive reactions.

"Everyone needs to calm down," Mary's voice was soft, but firm enough that everyone immediately fell silent. "I get that this is bad news. I may not know most of the story yet, but even I can understand that the devil being loose is a concern. I also know that freaking out about it will not give us solutions. Right?" They all nodded—even Gabriel. "Good. Now, Gabriel, _is_ this something that needs to be figured out tonight? Is he an immediate threat?"

Gabriel shrugged, still reeling a little from everything, "I don't think so. Even if he was able to enter his vessel tonight, I doubt he'd come running here. I mean, Dad said Luci was working _with_ you guys when Amara kicked him from Cas, so I didn't get the impression that there was some big score to settle. Is there?" He looked between Dean and Castiel.

"I have a score to settle," Castiel answered, "and I do not think it wise to allow him free roam on earth. But Sam is my priority. I do not want to do anything that would risk his safety, including giving Lucifer any reason to return here."

"Excuse me," Mary said in a tone somewhere between confused and angry, "You were all working with Lucifer? And when you say 'vessel' do you mean...what _do_ you mean?"

"Yeah, about that..." Dean answered when no one else spoke up, "Long story short? We've lived through our share of apocalypses. The most recent one involved Amara, or the Darkness. She is God's sister and she was _pissed_ because God locked her away before the creation of this world. It took the combined power of God and all four archangels back then, and when she, uh, escaped, we didn't have any of those people. We ended up busting Lucifer back out of his cage in hell, then Chuck showed up, and it took a bunch of angels, demons, and witches joining us to try and take her out. Which, actually, didn't work. Turns out, they just needed to talk their shit out, and that was that. Amara was actually the one to bring you back, mom. As a thank you."

"Wow. Okay, that's going to need some revisiting later. So what about vessels?"

Castiel answered, "Angels have no physical form—if a human saw us in our true form, it burns out their eyes. We require a human vessel, but we must have their consent before inhabiting their body."

Mary glared between Castiel and Gabriel, "Are you telling me that you two are possessing humans?" She turned to Dean, "And you guys are okay with that?"

"Actually, you've met the two exceptions to the rule! I made this fabulous work of art myself, so it is human-soul free." Gabriel dramatically gestured to his face and body.

"I was blown up by Raphael. God brought me back and recreated this vessel. Jimmy Novak was a very devout man who embraced the experience when it was asked of him. He is now in Heaven with his wife." Castiel decided not to go into the terrible events that followed the Novak family since he took residence in Jimmy.

"Moving on!" Dean interjected, trying to keep the conversation geared toward less touchy subjects. He turned back to Gabriel. "So why did Chuck bring you back?"

"He said that he was planning an extended vacation to play catch-up with his sister and wanted to set the angels back on their original path. As guardians, healers, messengers, warriors, yadda yadda. He realizes that everyone kinda went on autopilot last time he stepped out. So he's bringing back the whole gang."

"You mean Michael and Raphael?" Sam breathed, blood pounding in his ears.

Gabriel nodded, taking in the way Sam's face drained of color.

"But—but Michael was driven crazy in the cage, and Raphael tried to take over heaven to restart the apocalypse!" Sam pushed Mary's hand away and sat forward so his legs hung over the edge of the cushions, ready to move if needed, "Why would Chuck bring them back if he isn't going to stick around to keep them in line? Why would he do _this_ to me," he grabbed at his kid-sized shirt as red-hot anger built in his chest, " _heal_ me, and make me defenseless—useless in a fight..."

Castiel tentatively laid a hand on Sam's shoulder to get his attention, " **Samuel, you must calm down...** "

" **Fuck calm!** " Sam snarled, the heat spreading through his limbs until he was shaking. He slapped Castiel's hand off of him and jumped to his feet. The need to move, to be alone, to escape everything drove him toward his bedroom.

" **Samuel! Stop right now!** " Castiel's voice was stern enough to make Sam pause and look back. The angel was on his feet and walking swiftly toward him. " **I know you are upset, but...** "

" **You know nothing! Nothing stupid angel!** " Sam squared off against Castiel. He saw hurt flash in those bright blue eyes, but the angel didn't back down. Black wings rose up, ready for defense or flight. The sight made Sam clench his hands into fists. Fire flowed through his veins, fueling his fury with power.

Suddenly, the thunder of wings roared behind him. He spun around and came face-to-face with Gabriel in all his glory. Six blazing wings lowered to frame the figure who now towered over him, arms crossed over his chest. The whiskey colored eyes now shone with golden grace. " **If you do not control your anger then you are going to hurt people with your grace. Your brother and mother cannot protect themselves against such an attack. Is that what you want? To hurt your family?** " Gabriel's words were harsh, but they cut through the fog of rage.

Sam inhaled sharply and looked back at the others. They all stood, staring at him. Dean and Mary seemed lost, not knowing the words being spoken but recognizing the emotions. Castiel hadn't moved, but the hurt in his eyes had changed to sorrow. Shame surged through his inner fire, and Sam fell to his knees when the shaking turned into violent trembling. The power burned under his skin so he wrapped his arms around himself and folded himself over to rest his forehead on the ground, trying to keep it contained.

"Oh, kiddo," he heard Gabriel sigh just before hands grabbed him by the armpits and hoisted him back against the archangel's chest. There was no time to panic as those hands moved to cover his chest and forehead. " **Just relax, little guy. Your grace is surging and has no where to go. Just relax and breathe and let me help.** "

Sam braced himself, expecting to feel the archangel's grace tear through him. Instead, the build up of fire shifted back through his body and swirled in his chest. For a heartbeat, it seared his ribs and lungs, then suddenly began draining outward as though being pulled by the hand resting there. The trembling and burning died down and Sam gulped in air when his lungs began to work again. The air felt like ice in his chest, but it soothed away the remaining heat.

"That's it, Sammy. Almost there," Gabriel's voice sounded distant as Sam's muscles went lax and he had no choice but to relax completely. Another set of hands unfolded his legs so they were stretched out. He wanted to see who it was, wanted to make sure everyone was okay and let them know he was sorry, but his eyes were too heavy to open. He felt Gabriel's hand move through his sweat-drenched hair, "There you go. Everyone is safe and sound, so you just rest."

And with that, Sam sank completely into the darkness of sleep.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
Hope everyone enjoyed the premiere of season 12!  
I really tried to get this done before it aired, but that just didn't happen.

Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see, or would hate to have happen...or if you notice any errors (this is unbeta'd)!

Thanks for the comments so far...they are SOUL FOOD!


	6. Mother Mary Comes To Me

**MOTHER MARY COMES TO ME  
**

Mary Winchester was not new to exhaustion. Growing up in a hunting family, she was used to late nights full of worry and fear. Blood-soaked clothes were part of their normal laundry routine, and she could sew both fabric and skin by the time she hit adolescence. Combat and weaponry skills were regularly practiced by everyone in her house, and she balanced her school studies with learning creature lore. And through it all, she dreamed of a normal life.

John Winchester had given her that normal life, as well as two beautiful baby boys. Raising children and balancing budgets were exhausting in their own way. Sleepless nights with sick or fussy babies, and fights with her struggling veteran husband were just as taxing as battles with supernatural creatures. Her marriage wasn't perfect, but their rifts were always mended with time and effort, and her children were safe and loved. It was normal.

That all ended when she burned.

Two days ago, Dean had been a four year old—utterly devoted to his infant brother and bouncing with joy at the idea of teaching Sammy all the secrets of little boys. Now, thirty-three years had blown by in the blink of an eye. Dean was now a man hardened by the one life she never wanted for him. She occasionally saw glimpses of the boy she remembered. Unsurprising, it only came out when he interacted with his brother.

Sammy was another matter entirely. She had only six months with her baby before the fire. He was a stranger in so many ways—she never met the man he'd grown to be, and now that man was trapped in a child's body and changed by the grace of God. She had no idea what a person had to go through to damage their soul, but knowing her youngest had experienced it left her feeling hollow with helplessness.

It was a feeling she was growing used to since her return from death. For two days, she had watched this child repeatedly struggle with emotional issues for which she had no context. _That is going to change_ , she told herself as she walked with determination over to where Dean and the two angels were hovering over her youngest.

Sam was lying on the floor with his upper torso braced against Gabriel's chest. She took in the pale skin, sweaty clothes and hair, and pinched features on her son's face. The whole episode had ended fifteen minutes ago, yet none of the men had moved Sam off the floor. Instead, they were talking in low voices about the mechanics of grace.

Mary cleared her throat until she had their attention, "Is it safe to move him?"

"Oh," Gabriel looked down at the boy in his arms, "yeah, it should be fine. He'll probably sleep for a long while now that I drained the grace build up. I guess we should..."

Mary didn't wait for him to finish. Kneeling down, she got her arms under his shoulders and knees and hoisted him easily as she stood. "Dean, grab me a pair of pajamas. And one of you get me some warm water and a washcloth." She gave them until she reached the couch to sit in stunned silence. "Now, please." The sound of hasty footsteps made her smile. _Never underestimate the power of a mother's voice._

She gently placed Sam on the cushions and began to strip off the soaked clothes. His skin was cool and clammy, but his breathing and color looked good and the movement didn't rouse him. Mary took a moment to marvel at how small her son seemed for a six year old. He was the same size as Dean at four. While she had no idea what he'd looked like as an adult, everyone's comments made her believe Sam had been quite large. She made a mental note to ask if they had any photos.

"You sure you don't want me to do that?" Dean stood next to her holding one of the shopping bags. Gabriel joined them carrying a large bowl, Castiel on his heels with what appeared to be half a linen closet.

"I'm pretty sure I remember how to dress little boys, Dean. I was doing this for you just a couple days ago. Relatively speaking." She said, placing the bowl on the ground and eyeing the mass of cloth in Castiel's arms. Laughing, she gestured for him to dump it at the end of the couch, "I guess I should be glad you didn't get the water. You may have returned with a swimming pool."

Dean spared an eye roll at Castiel's awkwardness, but stayed focused on his mother. "I know you did, but Sam's not..."

"Not what?" Mary asked when Dean trailed off, "Not a boy who has had multiple emotional meltdowns in the past twenty four hours? Or just not used to anyone besides you taking care of him?" she said as kindly as possible.

"Yeah, the, uh, second one." Dean shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, maybe that is something both of you will get used to. Why don't you all take a seat. You can answer some questions while I do this." She dipped one of the washcloths into the perfectly warm water and began wiping the sweat from Sam's body. The familiar act calmed her nerves and finally gave her a sense of purpose. She saw Dean perch next to the pile of linens, hovering nervously like he didn't quite trust her with his brother. "So who wants to explain what is happening to Sam?"

"It's his grace," started Gabriel. He and Castiel were seated back on the other couch. "Fledglings have always been raised by the flock in Heaven. They are surrounded by skilled caretakers, and taught to control and exercise their grace from very early on. Everything is introduced slowly and under supervision." He picked up his mug and made a face at the now-cold coffee. With a snap, the drink transformed into steaming hot chocolate piled high with marshmallows. Satisfied, he continued, "I don't know how much you've learned about angels since being back, but we exist as multi-dimensional celestial beings. It takes centuries for baby angels to mature. Until then, it's common for the little buggers to lose control and need to be reigned back in. But this little guy is unique."

"Because he was human first?" Mary asked. She picked through the towels, looking for the softest. Dean handed her one and she took it with a smile. He would do that as a child when she would bathe infant Sammy, eager to help and participate in big-brother duties.

"Because Dad used His own grace to heal Sam's soul. The only other beings created that way were the archangels, and we were Dad's cherished sons. Sam? Sam wasn't raised by our Father, or allowed to grow into his grace like other angels. He's endured terrible things—I may not know all the details, but I can see where the scars are still healing. Dad brought me back in part because He knew Sam would need someone of my strength and ability to help guide him."

"And He picked you?" Dean snorted in disbelief, "Why? 'Cause I gotta say, besides dying for us, you were a dick to us when you were alive."

"Don't lie—you loved me." Gabriel teased. A grunt noise made Mary turn in time to see the archangel rubbing his side and glaring at Castiel.

"Gabriel," warned Castiel in a low rumble.

"Fine," Gabriel pouted before turning his attention back to Dean, "Sam is essentially a fledgling archangel. That means only six beings in the universe can manage his grace while he learns control. Dad, Amara, Michael, Raphael, Lucifer, and myself. Now, Dad and His sister are away on vacation. So who would you prefer out of my three older brothers?"

"Yeah well, when you put it that way," Dean cringed, "But that doesn't mean I trust you."

Mary pulled out the pajamas and quickly dressed Sam, processing what Gabriel had said. The others waited in silence as she gently lifted Sam and sat down with him in her arms. She took a deep breath and looked over at Dean. Her voice quivered as she spoke, "What happened to cause his soul to become so damaged that God himself needed to heal it?"

Dean leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Mary watched him try to gather himself. She waited patiently, rocking her sleeping son for the first time in over three decades. Whatever Dean was working up the strength to say, Mary wanted to keep herself grounded in knowing that she had both her boys right here—to remember that they had survived.

"It was the apocalypse—our first of several. The Biblical end-of-the-world complete with the four horsemen and broken seals and all of heaven and hell moving to make sure it happened. You, uh, remember how Gabriel explained that angels need vessels exist on earth? Well, it turns out that only certain bloodlines produce compatible vessels. And Sam and I? Let's just say that you and dad didn't meet and fall in love by accident. Heaven made it so you two got together and had us. Because we...we were 'destined' to be their prize vessels for the big showdown."

"What does that mean?" she prodded when he didn't continue.

"It means that I was meant to be the vessel for Michael. And Sam was...Sam was Lucifer's." Dean didn't look at her.

Mary froze and unconsciously tightened her grip on Sam. "What happened?"

Dean stood and started pacing, unable to meet anyone's eyes. "We were out of options. Michael found...he found another vessel that could contain him. But Lucifer's vessel was falling apart. The only thing we had left was Gabriel's plan. The four horsemen each had a ring. Put together they formed a key that opened a direct door to Lucifer's cage in hell. Sam—he sacrificed himself to save the world."

"How?"

"He said yes to Lucifer, regained control and jumped into the cage. Managed to drag Michael down with him." Dean's voice was thick with emotions he hadn't dealt with in a long time.

"What?!" Gabriel exploded, jumping to his feet.

"What did you expect us to do? Lure him there with candy and push him in? Ask him nicely to jump?" Dean shot back

Gabriel looked devastated as he turned back to stare at Sam in horror. "I don't know, I...how did he even survive saying 'yes' long enough to fight my brother for control? His mind should have been burnt out immediately!"

"Maybe because he's stronger than any of you winged asshats care to admit!" Dean growled.

"It probably helped that he had an idea of what to expect—he drank gallons of demon blood and was able to mentally prepare beforehand." Castiel said calmly.

Mary frowned at the growing list of things she'd have to ask about later. Drinking demon blood was definitely going near the top. "But he got out..."

"I tried to pull him out," Castiel continued, giving Dean time to collect himself, "but I only succeeded in rescuing his body. His soul was left behind for a year and a half until we were able to retrieve it and return it to his body."

"A year and a half? His soul spent a year and a half locked in a cage with Lucifer?" she gasped.

"Actually," Castiel glanced at Dean but his friend's back was turned away from them, "time moves differently in Hell, and possibly even slower in the cage. He spent at least two centuries at the mercy of Lucifer and Michael."

Tears fell unnoticed down her cheeks as she tried to wrap her head around the idea that her baby carried the memories and damage from two hundred years of torture. "Okay...okay, um, just give me a minute..." Her hands shook as they traced the curls falling around pink cheeks. The boy's extreme reactions suddenly made much more sense. Sam's face turned into her touch and she held him closer.

For the first time since being confronted by her adult son, Mary truly felt the enormity of her loss—their loss. It wasn't just the years, or all the 'firsts' like words and steps, that she'd missed. Her actions led their family on this path of pain and destruction. Her deal with the yellow-eyed demon was what started everything.

"Mom," Dean's broken voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts and she felt the couch dip as he sat beside her, "I'm so sorry. I should never..."

"No, Dean," she shook her head as more tears escaped, "This is my fault. I did this to you boys. I made a deal with the demon who killed me long before you boys were even born. I knew better, but...but John..."

"I know," Dean stopped her, "It's a running theme in our family. We've all done things to bring each other back. Sam and I more than anyone."

Mary's grief froze at his words. "You...you know about my deal? But how? No one knew, not even John."

"Um, long story short? Time travel. I was there when all that went down, but the angels wiped your memory."

"Neither of you are to blame," Gabriel said firmly. He was standing and his eyes blazed gold. "When Dean said that Heaven made sure you met John Winchester and had these boys, he wasn't exaggerating. They manipulated bloodlines for generations to ensure their creation. Nothing was left to chance. So no matter what you did or didn't do, it all would have turned out the same. Everything happened for the purpose of bringing about the apocalypse. Do you understand?"

"Why?" Mary asked, horrified at what he was saying, "Why would the angels _want_ to end the world?"

Gabriel sighed, "Because Daddy dearest skipped town and didn't leave any instructions. My brothers thought they were being obedient to His prophesied plan. Turns out it was a test of free will, not obedience. Actually," he glanced sadly at Castiel, "most of the angels didn't even know Dad was gone. They just followed Michael's orders and never questioned that they might not be coming from God."

Castiel nodded and his eyes shined with pain, "Disobedience is not tolerated. It's met with heavy re-education and punishment. I...I am still not sure how many times I had my mind broken and reprogrammed before I rebelled and fell completely. But I do know that Heaven can be as cruel as Hell when it comes to torture and corruption."

"At least you expect it from demons." Dean said.

"Well, all that is going to change." Gabriel declared with confidence.

"What does that mean?" Castiel sat forward in attention.

Gabriel sighed and moved back to sit beside his brother, "It means that I'm not the only one Dad is restoring. Like I was trying to say earlier before the kid went nuclear, Dad is remaking Raphael and healing Michael in His pocket-universe bar as we speak. And believe me, He will not be returning them to Heaven until they've had a nice long talk. Like, decades or centuries long."

"Explain how that is going to make things better." Dean ground out through clenched teeth.

Mary could feel her eldest vibrating with anxiety. It made her think that perhaps Sam hadn't been overreacting earlier. And it wasn't simply an issue of his grace being out of control.

"Michael and Raphael—they used to be very different. Sure, Micky was always the leader of the garrisons and Dad's number one warrior, but he was a champion of justice. He was kind and loving—especially to children. He wasn't just a soldier, he was a protector of the innocent. And Raphael," Gabriel's smile was the saddest thing Mary had ever seen, "Y'all never saw the real Raphael. He was the first healer of heaven. The gentlest, most nurturing of all the angels. But they both lost their way without our Father. We all did. After Lucifer—everything just fell apart."

Mary studied the two sitting across from her. Even though she knew they were angels and had witnessed their powerful grace, she still saw the same brokenness that came from deep wounds and torn families. She saw it in her own boys. Remembered seeing it in John when he told her how his father had walked out on his mother. It made her want to gather them all to her and never let go.

"So your Father, um Chuck, is reconciling with them? Or healing them, or whatever it is you do with angels?" Mary asked.

Gabriel nodded and gave her a small genuine smile. "Yeah," he said softly, "He's working with them, reminding them of who they were meant to be. Purging the corruption and all that jazz."

"And He did the same for you?" Mary pushed gently.

"We talked," Gabriel shrugged, but she saw through the attempt at nonchalance, "I went in kinda the opposite direction as my brothers. I ran from heaven and fully embraced free will down here with the pagans. Took the side of humanity during the apocalypse instead of Team Michael or Team Lucifer. But I'd forgotten what it meant to be an archangel—to be my Father's messenger. Dad reminded me of that."

Castiel cleared his throat, "So He is placing Heaven back into the hands of Michael and Raphael?"

"Yup!" Gabriel grinned.

"And He sent you here? To help with Sam?" Dean sounded incredulous, "Why?"

"Why what, Deano?"

"Why would He go through all the trouble to fix three archangels, give two of them the job of handling all of heaven and send you here to babysit my brother? Shouldn't you be out, like, delivering His messages again or something?" Mary watched Dean lean forward, a suspicious frown on his face.

Gabriel placed his hot chocolate back on the table and stared back at Dean for several moments, searching for some unnamed thing. Eventually, he huffed a laugh and shook his head, "Man, I can't believe how wrong I was about you boys."

Dean was immediately on the defensive, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"When I first met you two knuckleheads, I thought you were so arrogant. Big, strong hunters who saw themselves as judge, jury, and executioner to all things not human. During the whole Mystery Spot fiasco, I watched Sam become consumed with saving you no matter the cost. I tried so hard to teach him to let you go—not just for his own sanity, but because I was convinced you two saw yourselves as more important than the rest of humanity. But I was wrong, wasn't I?" Dean shifted uncomfortably beside Mary, but didn't answer. "You weren't driven by some selfish notion of being better than others—you did it because you think your lives are only worth sacrificing."

"What?!" Dean tried to laugh, but it came out all wrong and he refused to meet anyone's eyes, "That's not true!"

"Really?" Gabriel sat back, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, "How many times have you and Sam sacrificed yourselves to save either the world or the other brother?"

"I don't know. What does it matter? We've made mistakes—selfish, stupid mistakes. What does that have to do why God sent you here to help Sam?"

Mary's stomach dropped when her son couldn't count how many times he and Sam had died. She knew the kind of toll a hunter's life had on a person. It was why she had fought so hard to give her boys the 'normal' she never had. But she recognized that her life as a hunter must have been quite different from Sam and Dean's experience.

The Campbell family held a long line of hunters. Knowledge was passed down over generations, and they had relied on a network of family and friends who shared the burden. But John had no knowledge of the supernatural until after her death. His combat skills were based on experience in the war as a soldier. He would have had no contacts or specialized weapons or books on lore. And he raised their boys while on a mission of revenge.

Her horror must have shown on her face because Gabriel was looking at her with sad understanding. "It matters because no other humans in history have done as much for my father's creations as you two boys. Not only that—you gave Him back His sister, healing a wound that predates, well, almost everything. He loves all of humanity, but you Winchesters are His favorite. You are special to Him in ways beyond measure. "

Dean shuddered at the intensity of Gabriel's words, shaking his head when his eyes became too blurred to see. "I...I didn't," he choked out past the burning in his throat, "I didn't even believe He really existed until a week or so ago."

"That just makes Him love you even more," Gabriel gave a crooked smile, "Because you sacrificed everything for the sake of humanity. Not out of some sense of devotion or obedience, but because it was the right thing to do."

Mary carefully rearranged her hold on Sam so her left hand was free to rest on Dean's back. She felt him jump at her touch, but then leaned into it. His face was etched in emotion and exhaustion, and it reflected exactly what she was feeling as well. "I think we may want to call it a night. It's been a very long couple of days, and we all need some time to process," Mary said, even though she knew there was so much more to learn. They had only gone over a tiny fraction of events that had shaped her boys' lives, but even without the details she felt overwhelmed.

Dean nodded and scrubbed at his face with his hands, "Yeah, good plan," his eyes met hers and softened, "I still can't believe you're really here. I mean, part of me feels like you've been here a lifetime and I keep forgetting you've only been back a couple days, but the rest of me still can't wrap my head around the fact that you're real."

Mary laughed and gave a watery smile, "Like I said, we all need time to process. A week ago, I was changing diapers and thought laundry was the bane of my existence."

Leaning over, Dean wrapped his arms around both his mother and Sam. Just holding them without speaking and basking in the feeling of family and safety. Mary closed her eyes and reminded herself that regardless of what all they had experienced, they had also survived.

The sound of a throat clearing had them reluctantly pulling apart. Gabriel and Castiel stood next to them looking tired and rumpled and nothing like the powerful beings of Heaven. "All right kids, it's bedtime for humans and baby angels. Let's get you settled for the night before you pass out right here." Gabriel crouched down in front of Mary and placed a hand on her shoulder. His eyes darted down to Sam, silently asking for permission. She nodded and allowed him to gently gather her boy into his arms. Dean made a disgruntled noise, and she had to admit that her arms felt suddenly empty and weightless at the loss. The archangel whispered in his own language to her sleeping son, but Mary understood the soothing tones.

A hand entered her range of vision and she looked up to find Castiel offering assistance to her and Dean. He pulled her up effortlessly, and she almost laughed as she watched her eldest try to slap away the angel's arm. "Go on, I'll be there in a minute," her son ordered only to have Castiel roll his eyes as he grabbed Dean's jacket and yanked him off the couch.

"Cas, what the hell man!?" Dean sputtered.

"You will not 'be there in a minute,'" Castiel said, and Mary felt a tad hysterical at his use of air-quotes, "You are in need of sleep, not alcohol and solitary contemplation."

"What are you, my mother?" he said without thinking. It took a second for his words to catch up to him and when they did he shot Mary a guilty glance. Dean cleared his throat and focused back on his best friend, "I mean, I'm a grown man and do not need you to tell..."

"Would you prefer I carry you?" Castiel interrupted, eyes narrowing.

"Would you prefer spending the night in a ring of holy fire?" Dean immediately shot back.

Tilting his head, the angel stared down the human. The human stared back.

Mary felt an arm link with her elbow, and turned to see Gabriel looking delighted, "Come on," he said as he led her away. He was cradling Sam in one arm effortlessly and giggling to himself as they made it to the hallway. "Those two stare at each other like old married couples fight."

A glance over her shoulder showed her that neither stubborn being had moved. "In what way?" she asked, turning back to the archangel.

"In the way that it happens constantly, unconsciously, and they are completely unaware how uncomfortable it makes others when it happens in public," he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows until she giggled with him. "You know," he said as she showed him to the room with the combined beds, "I think we are going to be great friends."

"Friends with the archangel Gabriel," she said in a bewildered tone, "I never saw this as my future."

Gabriel released her arm so she could gather up the sleep clothes from the night before. All their new stuff was still in bags on the war table, but there was no way she was going to traverse back through the intense staring to retrieve them. These would do for one more night.

"You aren't the first Mother Mary I've been sent to by my Father," Gabriel said as he sat on the sofa cuddling her son. The nostalgic and slightly-awed look in his eyes as he traced Sam's curls with a light touch made Mary wonder how long he'd been separated from his family. The soft expression seemed out-of-place, like he'd forgotten how to show anything but confidence and snark.

"Oh? Were you friends with her too?"

"Nah, I just gave her the message that she was preggo and went on my merry way," his voice dropped to a whisper when Sam shifted in his sleep.

Mary sat next to them on the sofa, "And do you have a message to deliver here too? Or are you really here to help with Sammy?"

"What makes you think I haven't already delivered the message?" he asked without a trace of sarcasm. She frowned, confused, and he gave her a smile that carried a depth of power and understanding that left her breathless. "Humans often believe my Father's messages are complicated and incomprehensible, but most of the time they are incredibly simple. So simple they can be overlooked or dismissed.

"God wants the Winchesters to know that they are loved. It is a message that will need repeating—sometimes daily, sometimes hourly. Yes, I am here to help guide Sam, but that is part of the message. These boys have sacrificed everything, time and time again, and expected nothing but pain and death in return. You will learn more about them over time, and see that a message of unconditional love will not be understood or accepted easily."

"Well, they haven't had their mother to help teach them," she said with a shaky smile.

Gabriel's grin was blinding, "Atta girl. You speak those words of wisdom."

"Did you just quote the Beatles?" she laughed, standing to go get changed.

"Why don't you go get changed and just let it be?" he said with a wink.

By the time Mary was settled in bed, they were rejoined by Dean and Castiel. The tension was gone and her eldest melted into the mattress, asleep before Castiel could even cover him with the blanket. She watched as the angel grabbed an extra blanket from the brothers' beds and joined Gabriel on the sofa. He placed it around her son who was still sleeping in the shorter man's arms.

"Are you going to hold him all night?" she asked.

"Yeah. That way I'll know if his grace starts to act up right away. Less dangerous to everyone who can't defend against it." Gabriel blushed when he looked up to see even Castiel smiling at him in a knowing way. "What!? Can't a guy bond with the newest baby in the flock?" he asked, clearly flustered.

"Get me up if he needs anything, okay?" Mary waited until he nodded before continuing, "And Gabriel? Thank you."

Gabriel smiled and nodded again, "You should know, mother of the Winchesters, that His message was for you as well. Sleep well, Mary."

She closed her eyes before any more tears could form and drifted off feeling protected and loved by the angels watching over them.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
** This chapter did NOT want to be written! It was a challenge to try and write mostly dialogue and do the whole "previously in your sons' lives" without just doing a summary of the show. I tried to keep it engaging and moving even without a lot of action.  
Let me know what y'all think! Comments feed this author's soul!


	7. Don't Shoot the Messenger pt 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
Enochian is in bold.**  
 _Thoughts/angel-radio/telepathy is in italics._

* * *

 **DON'T SHOOT THE MESSENGER  
** **PART 1**

When Gabriel opened his eyes to find himself standing in Chuck's pocket-universe bar, his first thought was _Lucifer totally failed at fratricide_. Maybe his Father had _finally_ decided to reinvolved Himself with their deteriorating family, and save Gabriel from his fate at the last second. Then he saw Amara, and he realized that couldn't be true—there were too many fail-safes in place keeping her locked away and he would have felt the Mark's destruction immediately. Which meant he'd been dead, and probably for a great deal of time.

Gabriel hadn't seen his Father in thousands of years. They talked for an age about their many unresolved issues, the archangel's life as a pagan god, and his love of humanity. By the end of it, most of Gabriel's anger was purged and his resentment cleansed. Basking in his Father's love reminded him of his purpose, and renewed his longing to be connected to his family.

Naturally, that was when Chuck decided Gabriel was ready to return—not to Heaven, but to Earth. Specifically, to the Winchesters.

" **The Winchesters? Why in the nine-levels of Hell are you sending me to them?** _"_ Gabriel's dramatic outrage only made Chuck smile affectionately.

" **Because you are my messenger. And they need you,** _"_ His eyes twinkled.

" **Okaaay** _,"_ Gabriel pushed on with the most patience he could muster, " **Can you elaborate? Do you have a specific message for them?** "

Chuck just looked at him, " **It is my only message. You will see what is needed when you get there.** "

" **But.. _._** " Despair crept in at the thought of not returning home to Heaven.

" **I know, son. You must trust me. Heaven will welcome you when it is time for you to return. Until then, know that I love you and I am very proud of you.** " Chuck embraced His son one more time, then pulled away, " **Go to the Winchesters. They need you.** "

Before he'd had the chance to respond, Gabriel found himself standing outside an empty rundown building in the middle of nowhere-Kansas. The place was heavily warded, although it was instantly apparent that many wards had recently been destroyed. He spent the next hour snooping through the elaborate, nicer-on-the-inside bunker. It was clearly lived in, and judging by the personal items he found it seemed to be home to his Dad's favorite humans.

As he reached the garage, Gabriel sensed Castiel growing closer. Stretching out his grace, he could identify two humans. There was also another person was with them. A person exceedingly powerful who carried grace. A person with grace who Gabriel could not identify.

It was enough to make him pause. Even though centuries had passed since Gabriel left Heaven, he knew every angel in existence. He was present for the creation of all his younger siblings and could instantly name each one based on their grace alone. Yet he didn't recognize the grace-filled being traveling with his brother and the humans.

When he heard the infamous sound of the Impala screech to a halt on the other side of the door, he tried to assess the situation. He silently sent a curse to his Father for not giving him more information. Listening for a minute, Gabriel could clearly identify Dean and Castiel's voices. He chuckled when he realized they knew he was there and were trying to prepare for a possible fight.

Putting on his best sassy expression, Gabriel made his grand entrance. The monologue he'd prepared went swimmingly until he set eyes on the child clinging to Dean Winchester. All he saw at first was the familiar grace of his Father emanating from within the tiny body. But then he looked into those enormous hazel eyes and he knew. The terror pouring off Sam was a shock to his system and almost physically painful. It kept him frozen in place when everyone else gave chase to the suddenly escaping kid. Dean's shout of "don't _fucking_ move" didn't even register for several minutes.

 _Damn it, Dad! You couldn't have given me just a little heads-up here?!_ Gabriel's mind reeled with the possible reasons for Sam's change. He wasn't a Nephilim—the boy would have been born that way. A witch could have de-aged the younger Winchester, but wouldn't have the ability to impart grace on a human. Especially not his Father's grace. The only explanation was that his Father had done this Himself.

The reason why his Dad would intervene in such an extreme way quickly became clear as the night wore on and he heard a small part of the events surrounding the failed apocalypse. Horror still made his vessel feel shaky and his grace unsettled. Now that the others were asleep it was easier to drop his mask of confidence and really focus on the child in question.

Gabriel stared at the bundle of blankets and curly hair in his arms. The sleeping boy was a miracle—to survive inside Lucifer's cage at the mercy of two furious archangels was unthinkable. His Father's grace shone brightly among the fragments of Sam's soul and it called to his own grace in a way he hadn't experienced since before the creation of humanity. The fledgling was something the archangel had long given up ever seeing, let alone holding in his arms, ever again.

 _Brother, are you alright?_ Castiel's true-voice broke through Gabriel's thoughts and resonated within his mind. He tore his gaze from the slumbering child to meet his brother's worried eyes.

Shaking his head, Gabriel struggled to sort the conflict of emotions churning within. _I don't really know, Cassie._

 _What is troubling you?_

Gabriel looked back down at Sam and pulled the blanket back just enough to see the boy's face. Draining his grace had kept him deep in sleep so far, but it was not guaranteed to last through the entire night. And it would not ward off dreams. _What isn't troubling me right now?_ Gabriel huffed a hollow laugh out loud. His fingers traced the smooth brow. _How did this happen?_

Castiel frowned, _God healed Sam by merging His grace with the damaged soul._

 _Not what I meant._

 _What did you mean?_ the younger angel asked when Gabriel didn't continue.

 _I mean...I mean how could our brothers fall so far that they shred a soul. Sure, Michael can be a dick...and Lucifer was a whole bag of dicks. But to do this?_ he found he was still slowly shaking his head, like the more he did it the more he could deny the past actions of his family. _I ran away because I couldn't take the fighting or how empty Heaven felt when Lucifer and the others fell. I buried 'Gabriel' so far below 'Loki' he was essentially dead. I did things I'm not proud of—especially now that I've talked them over with our Father. I taught lessons, and when a lesson couldn't be learned I killed. But I never tortured for torture's sake._

 _You may have buried 'Gabriel' under the guise of 'Loki' but you never rid yourself of the need for righteous justice. You continued to protect innocents from the evil doers._ Castiel put a hesitant hand on his brother's shoulder, wary of overstepping boundaries. _Michael changed in our Father's absence. He ruled Heaven like a cold tyrant more concerned with obedience than justice or mercy. Raphael was even worse—he abandoned his role as a hero to become Michael's enforcer._

Sadness grew in Gabriel at hearing how Heaven had changed, as did his feelings of guilt at not being there to try and prevent it. _How did Raphael die?_

Castiel's hand jerked back, startling Gabriel with the violence of his movement. But there was no anger in those blue eyes—only a storm of despair and remorse. _Father didn't tell you?_

 _Dad didn't tell me shit before sending me here,_ Gabriel told him wryly.

Castiel looked away from him, jaw clenched and hands fisted tightly atop his thighs. _I killed him._

Gabriel blinked, _Come again?_

 _I killed him. He was attempting to restart the apocalypse. Factions formed, sides were taken, and Heaven was on the verge of civil war. I..._ he broke off, face flushed with shame, _I was so stupid and naive. I decided to empty purgatory of its souls for their power. When I succeeded, I killed Raphael and unleashed the Leviathans upon the earth._

A soft whistle made Castiel turn back toward an awed Gabriel. _Damn, little bro, you sure don't do things halfway._

Castiel nodded solemnly, _I went very 'dark side' for a time. Proclaimed myself the new god and killed anyone who stood against me._

 _Did you just quote 'Star Wars,' Cassie?_ A small smile lifted the corners of Gabriel's mouth—both in amusement and to show the angel that he wasn't judging his mistakes.

Castiel shifted in his seat and some of the tension eased from his body. _Yes. A couple years ago, Metatron took over Heaven using the Angel Tablet._

 _The Scribe?_ Gabriel interrupted, looking incredulously at his brother. _Wimpy little guy? Dad's glorified secretary?_

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the description. It was accurate but it downplayed the level of destruction Metatron had wrought on Heaven and Earth. And it illustrated how easily the 'expendable' angels could be overlooked or dismissed. _Yes. He wanted to rewrite reality to make himself the new god and tried pushing me to play the role of his villain in his 'grand story.' He actually used you—well, a construct of you—to trick me into leading the rebellion. However, when I realized what was happening, Metatron became very upset because I didn't understand his references to popular human cultural icons and stories. So he 'downloaded' all of them into my memory. It has made communicating much easier, even if I still do not understand everything humans say._

When the younger angel used air-quotes in all seriousness, Gabriel had to hold in the laugh bubbling up through his system. The second time, it escaped in a snort. The noise made Dean shift on his bed and Castiel extended his grace to soothe the man back into a deeper sleep. Then he turned to scowl at his older brother.

 _I fail to see the humor of my story. Metatron caused death among the angels at a rate far greater than Raphael's civil war or even my own horrendous slaughter against those who opposed my reign._

 _You are right. There is nothing funny about any of that._ Gabriel waved it off, _But what IS hilarious is you using 'finger quotes!'_ He mocked him by repeating the gesture with his free hand.

Castiel's scowl morphed into contemplation. _Oh. I wondered why people laughed when I use them. I always assumed I was incorrect in my references._

 _Man, I've missed you Cassie._ Gabriel said affectionately. His grin faded when he felt Castiel slump in the seat next to him, and a slight tremble work its way through the angel's body. _Castiel?_ Gabriel worried he'd said the wrong thing.

 _I...I missed you as well, Gabriel. More than I can ever express._ Blue eyes met earthy-gold and Gabriel was floored to see tears there. _I know we were not very close before you left Heaven, but I do remember you from when I was younger than Samuel. I always appreciated how kind you were to us younger, lesser angels. So much kinder than the other archangels—even Raphael. Your absence was felt throughout the flock, especially as Michael and Raphael grew cold and more distant._

 _I am so sorry, Castiel._ Gabriel wanted nothing more than to gather up all his remaining siblings and hold them as close as he was holding Sam right now. Slowly, he wrapped his right arm around Castiel's shoulders and drew him into his side. As the trench coat clad body relaxed into the embrace, Gabriel unfurled one primary wing to add another layer of warmth and protection. Golden feathers covered the inky black ones and their graces intertwined like cat tails. They sat there, not moving, for over an hour. Simply basking in the renewed connection unique to angels. It had been far too long since either of them had felt the security of home.

In the early morning hours, Gabriel felt Sam begin to stir. After reassuring himself that it wasn't a nightmare, Gabriel gently shifted the blanket so it wasn't confining the boy's movements. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to wake up feeling restrained.

 _Should he be waking already?_ Castiel asked in a worried tone.

Gabriel shrugged, unsure himself. _I know what is normal for seraphs, but I was the youngest archangel. It's kinda been going on several million years since I was this age. Possibly even billions of years. I don't really remember naps and how long they lasted. Actually, I don't remember sleeping at all. But Samuel is different, so I don't think there is a 'normal' here._

They tried not to hover (and failed miserably) as they watched Sam go from sleep to consciousness like most hunters—almost instantly. Years of being trained by John Winchester and living in a constant state of vigilance meant that the boy was aware of his surroundings before his eyes opened. Gabriel felt the tiny body tense and wide hazel eyes lock onto his face. There was only a second for Gabriel to realize that seeing the Trickster first thing was probably a bad idea. Especially when a small fist shot toward his mouth.

Gabriel's reflexes kicked in and he grabbed the fist before it made contact. "Whoa there, Sambino! Should have known you were the 'wake up swinging' kinda guy."

Sam stared, breaths coming in shallow gasps.

" **Samuel,** " Castiel voice was low, just above a whisper. Sam jumped and looked past Gabriel to see the familiar face of his friend. " **Are you awake?** " The boy nodded. Castiel slowly reached to take his fist from Gabriel's grasp and continued talking. " **Do you remember where you are?** "

Sam's eyes darted back up to Gabriel for a moment before he turned to look around the room. They heard his breath hitch when he saw his mother and brother. When he turned back, his cheeks were flushed and he refused to look at them.

 _I think someone is remembering his meltdown last night._ Gabriel's voice spoke in Castiel's mind.

 _He has struggled with controlling his emotions a great deal since our Father changed him._

 _That's to be expected. You chickadees were always having outbursts at this age—and that was without the emotional baggage this little guy carries._ Gabriel rubbed the boy's back and spoke in a whisper, "What do you say we go make some breakfast? Hmm?"

Sam nodded again and shuffled onto the floor. Gabriel stood and as they made their way into the hallway he used his grace to check the humans. Both were in a deep sleep, and should stay there for a while longer. He wanted to ensure they gave the angels some time to talk with Sam before they awoke. Castiel nodded his approval and followed.

In the hallway, Gabriel went to pick up Sam only to have Castiel grab his arm. Arching an eyebrow in question, the younger angel just shook his head. _He does not like to be carried unless there is no other option._

Gabriel pouted but continued to walk alongside the boy, keeping his hands to himself. They moved at a sedate pace and Gabriel had to bite his tongue to keep himself from making comments about their new height-reversal. He knew Sam wasn't ready to be teased, but the prankster in him was longing to crack jokes—if for no other reason than to break the tension.

"I know you guys think it's cool to live in some kind of underground bat cave, but seriously, it's dark. We should hang some party lights or something in the halls so it's less like some military compound and more like a superhero headquarters. Or even better—floating candles like at Hogwarts," When they reached the kitchen, Gabriel snapped on the lights. "Now, lets see what you crazy kids have by way of _real_ food. I snooped yesterday before you all got here, and I gotta say—I was not impressed. No ice cream. No chocolate. No candy at all! Just coffee, hamburger meat, and weird green stuff. How in Dad's name did you manage to live off that?" He rambled as he busied himself with going through all the cabinets. A glance over his shoulder showed Sam sitting down on a stool with his arms wrapped around his middle.

With a sigh, Gabriel set down a skillet and walked over to the pitiful figure. "Hey, you. With the sad face. You want to give me a hand?"

Sam shrugged, then shook his head without looking up.

Gabriel crouched down so they were eye level and nudged the boy's chin up with a gentle touch until he met his gaze. "How about this—you help me with breakfast and I'll see to it you get a full sized coffee." Sam glanced over to Castiel who nodded his agreement to the terms.

"Hey!" Gabriel said in mock outrage, bringing the boy's attention back to him. "What are you looking at him for? He's not part of this deal." With a wink, he held his hand out and waited for Sam to shake it. When he did, Gabriel gave a broad smile. "Good choice. Alright, up you go." Without pause, Gabriel scooped Sam up and brought him over to the island.

Immediately, Sam began fighting his hold. "Put me down!"

"Oh, he _can_ talk." Gabriel laughed as he sat the boy on the counter, "Did you know he can talk, Cassie?"

"Of course I know he can talk," the angel answered, clearly confused, "You have heard Sam talk on multiple occasions, including yesterday. Was there a reason you were concerned he had lost the ability?" Castiel walked swiftly over to them at the island and stood in front of Sam. After studying him intensely for a second, he raised two fingers to the boy's forehead.

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed the hand away before it made contact while Gabriel burst out laughing. "Ignore him, Cas," Sam said with a scowl at the archangel, "He thinks he's being cute."

" _I_ think I'm being cute?" Gabriel said through his laughter, "That's rich coming from the chickadee in footie pajamas!"

Sam's scowl morphed into a full-blown bitch-face that only made Gabriel laugh harder. Giving up on making the archangel take him seriously, Sam looked down at his clothes. Mary had picked this sleep set out, insisting they would keep his feet warm in the chilly bunker. Dean had laughed at him until their mother sent him across the store for some vague item to give them all a break. "Who dressed me?" he asked Castiel.

"Your mother." the angel answered.

A blush covered Sam's cheeks, "Why not Dean?"

"He wanted to, but Mary insisted. She was very concerned about you after..." Castiel trailed off when he saw Sam flinch at the reminder.

"After I screamed at you and almost hurt my family?" Sam mumbled, looking down at his knees to avoid eye contact, "Why would she even want to touch me after how I acted?"

"Okay, none of that. Move bro," Gabriel hip-checked Castiel out of the way and took is place directly in front of Sam. Placing a hand on either side of the boy he leaned into his space. The laughter was gone, but his smile remained. He waited a moment, allowing Sam to adjust to his sudden closeness. The boy pulled back but didn't try climbing over the counter top, and he stayed still when he realized Gabriel wasn't going to grab him.

"Alright, Sammy, let's break this down a bit, okay? You have grace. I'm guessing that it reformed your body to fit the angel-age of your soul which makes you feel vulnerable and a bit defenseless. It also means your mind is now able to process the centuries of torture you survived in the cage. It is _normal_ to feel unbalanced and out of control. Because you _are_ , and it takes time to learn how to properly control grace abilities—even for the angels who have never known life without grace, it takes centuries to become stable. And they were never exposed to anything approaching human-level emotion. Look at Cassie, here. He's been around humans now for years, and he's still practically a Vulcan!"

Sam glanced at Castiel who was nodding, "That is an adequate comparison."

Gabriel chuckled, but kept his attention on Sam, "I'm never going to get used to him understanding pop culture references. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that what you are experiencing is normal. _You_ are normal."

"Yeah, normal," Sam muttered in disbelief and tried to look away.

"Look at me, Sam," Gabriel waited until the boy obeyed, then continued, "I know this was never exactly on your list of life goals. And for most humans living in the mundane world this would seem like something straight out of a fantasy movie. But you grew up immersed in the supernatural world. You've known angels and demons and vampires and werewolves and a hundred other creatures who share this planet. You've traveled through time, been to Heaven and Hell, and Dad knows where else. People in your family have died and been resurrected on an almost yearly basis. And you had the big-man Himself as a house-guest for a time. So yeah, normal is relative."

He paused while Sam processed what he'd said. The boy sat there, picking at his pajamas with those tiny fingers. Finally, he looked back up into Gabriel's face. "But what if it's too much?"

"Too much what, kiddo?" he prodded gently.

"Too much for them?" Sam whispered as though worried speaking any louder might summon the sleeping humans.

"You mean your mother and Dean?"

Sam nodded, biting his lower lip.

"Well, I can't promise there won't be an adjustment period. But I don't think you'll have to worry about it being 'too much' for them. Especially for Dean. You two have gone through everything together—even before the apocalypse you'd already experienced more than most hunters would in a lifetime. And I don't even know everything that's happened in the more recent years, but I'm sure it all got even bigger, darker, and more dramatic knowing you guys. Like the Leviathans? Cassie told me a bit about that fiasco. I remember them, and they were a formidable enemy for the archangels and the host. I can't imagine a bunch of raggedy humans fighting and winning against them, but you did!"

"Not without consequences." Sam said in a shaky voice, "Dean and Cas got stuck in Purgatory. And I did nothing to get them back!" He looked at Castiel with watery eyes, begging for forgiveness without words.

"Samuel," Castiel moved closer to them, "you had no way of knowing what had happened to us or where we were. It is not your fault."

 _Benny has been more of a brother to me this past year than you've ever been! You let me down._

 _Mistakes? Let's go through some of Sammy's greatest hits._

 _Drinking demon blood, check. Being in cahoots with Ruby._

 _Not telling me that you lost your soul._

 _Those aren't mistakes, Sam. Those are choices!_

 _Always blamed me for pulling you back into it...this life._

 _Everything you've ever done since you climbed into my ride has been to deceive me._

Sam's gut clenched as his brother's voice rang clear in his head. He quickly wrapped his arms around his stomach and clenched his eyes shut against the onslaught of memories tied to that time. The anger and pain and guilt that constantly fed back into each other like a vicious looping cycle. Sure, he had apologized for not looking for Dean just a few months ago. Right after Lucifer had also done a "Sammy's greatest hits" slideshow of his life. And maybe the wound was now a scar, but it wasn't gone. It could never be erased.

A cool hand pressed to the forehead and he felt Castiel's grace soothe the headache he hadn't realized was pounding. "Sam, those are things Dean said in the past, under the influence of a cursed object. They do not reflect how he currently feels about you or your relationship."

"But how is this any different? Chuck offered, and I said 'yes' and now I'm not human. I'm not _human_ Cas! Right now, Dean's in shock because he didn't die from the soul bomb, and mom's back, and I'm different. Give him enough time for it all to sink in and settle, and he's going to realize that I'm _not human_. It's been, like, our biggest fear since dad's last words to Dean was he'd either have to save me or kill me."

A gasp sounded from behind Sam, at the entrance to the kitchen. Castiel instantly straightened up and started to step around the island. Gabriel stayed where he was, still leaning against the counter with his hands on either side of Sam. He saw Mary hold up a hand and Castiel stopped. She looked furious.

"John said _what_?!"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
The original opening line to this story was this: "A new fledgling, unique in his creation, and it was Samuel-fucking-Winchester." It was my starting point for writing Gabriel's inner monologue, but it never fit on it's own. I held on to it and kept pushing it to the bottom of the word document...until I was done, and there wasn't any place for it anymore. So, I give it to you here. :)

Thanks to everyone who has commented so far.

Comments feed SOULS!


	8. Don't Shoot the Messenger pt 2

**DON'T SHOOT THE MESSENGER  
PART 2**

The moment Sam heard Mary gasp, his hands shot up to cover his mouth as though he could physically force the words back in. He stared wide-eyed into Gabriel's face, unable to turn around and look at his mother. Her anger filled the room with ice-cold fury. Sam felt it press against him and he shivered as goosebumps rose unpleasantly along his skin. He bit into his palm when nausea forced bile up into his throat.

 _Come on, kiddo, she isn't mad at you._ Gabriel's voice boomed in Sam's mind, a deafening explosion of thunder in the immediate vicinity of a lightning strike. He slapped the hand not shoved in his mouth over one ear and curled over, missing Gabriel's wince.

"Sorry, buddy, guess you're not quite ready for angel-radio yet, huh? Shh, it's okay, let me fix that..." The archangel whispered, brushing fingers through the messy curls and easing the sharp stabbing inside his skull. Sam also felt the mental barriers return, buffering Mary's anger. "That's better, yeah?"

Sam nodded but stayed hunched over, torn between exhaustion and mounting frustration. Everything from the last few days made him want to curl into a ball and hide and sleep for a few weeks. Why expose himself to this constant barrage of humiliation and anxiety when he was powerless against it all? He heard the voices of Mary and Castiel fade into the hall leaving nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

"You okay, Sam?" Gabriel asked without a trace of teasing or use of a nickname. It was a relief—knowing how serious the archangel was treating this moment. Sam needed to be taken seriously, and not just be seen as some strange new child.

" **How tell her? Demon blood, Azazel...No!** " Sam grabbed Gabriel's jacket collar and pushed himself into the other's space for the first time. " **No tell her.** "

"Whoa there! Don't tell her what? About Azazel's plan? That's kinda the only part of the story she's directly involved in—it might be hard to leave that blank." Gabriel said in English, looking confused.

Sam shook his head and pushed back against the rising tide of anxiety. If he could focus on the words and logic, then maybe he could relearn how to disconnect his emotional response in some situations. Situations like this one. " **No! If her know Azazel, next know...Lucifer. Too soon.** "

Gabriel sighed sadly, "I'm sorry, Sam. But your mother already knows about Lucifer. She wanted to know why your soul needed to be healed—why and how it was broken in the first place."

Sam froze at the words, his grasp on the cool, logical argument slipping away at the realization that the plan was useless. " **She know?** " he asked softly.

"Yeah, she knows—about vessels, and how Heaven and Hell tried manipulating you both into saying yes, and how you saved the world by tricking the devil. Oh, just for the record—you and I are definitely going to have a long talk about how it is you came to the conclusion that _jumping_ was the best application of my porn-hidden plan. But not right now, and not today," Gabriel said as he calmly eased Sam's fingers down from his jacket and held them loosely between them. "Now, she knows about Luci, but not Azazel. She needs to know what happened to you boys after she died. Needs to know _why_ she died—why Azazel made these deals in the first place. Do you understand?" Sam nodded, devastated at not preventing his mom from learning about the cage. "Okay, kiddo. Hold on a sec, Castiel's asking me something."

Sam sat on the counter, staring at his smaller hands against Gabriel's larger palms. Part of him recognized what the archangel had said, and understood the truth of it. Considering she already knew the one thing he was hoping to keep from her, everything else in their history seemed to pale in comparison. What's the horror in her learning Azazel's part in their story when she knows the ending?

The sight of Gabriel's fingers curling to completely cover Sam's own hand made him jump. Looking up, he realized he'd missed hearing his name. "Sam? Saammmy?" Gabriel's voice sang until he had his attention. "There you are," he smiled and gently let go of Sam's hands so he could raise his own in invitation, "So, Castiel is going to fill your mom in on the basics. I think we need to go wake up your brother and catch him up on the morning. What do you say?"

" **He mad I say bad things...** " Sam ignored the offered arms.

"What? I don't..." he cut himself off as he remembered the statement that started this whole mess, "You mean the thing about John? You think Dean will be angry because you said something negative about your dad?"

Sam shook his head, knowing he could never explain how their father had turned into a mixed symbol in the decade since his death. The brothers had tried so hard to reconcile their conflicting feelings for the man who'd raised them in empty rooms with empty bellies. Their own monumental mistakes softened the boys' memories of John's actions. But for Sam to have said what he did in front of Mary would be unforgivable. " **She hear bad things,** " he clarified.

"Oh, Dean will be mad _your mom_ heard what you said," Gabriel pulled a face, understanding that their morning chat with the older Winchester brother could get rough. "Well, he may not like it, but he will move on. Believe me, the more I learn about you boys, the more I know not to underestimate either of you."

Sam raised an eyebrow, silently asking for further explanation.

"I'll explain it later—it goes along with the talk about you jumping into the cage. Let's focus on one thing at a time, and right now..." Gabriel wiggled his fingers where they still hung, suspended between them, waiting for Sam to lean forward.

Sam knew he couldn't ignore Gabriel's requests to pick him up. He doubted the archangel would allow him to jump down, or try to climb off the counter. Besides, Sam didn't think he could make the long walk back to their new bedroom, and he appreciated the fact that Gabriel wasn't just grabbing him without permission. So he begrudgingly leaned into the offered arms.

Gabriel held him to his chest and Sam allowed himself to rest his chin on the broad shoulder. For a moment, they just stood there in the kitchen. " **You are going to be just fine, Samuel. Your family loves you, and you have at least two angels who will do everything in their power to keep all of you—all of _us—_ safe. I promise.**"

Sam closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the jacket material. He felt something shift in Gabriel and then something like the sun's rays in a gentle wind drifted across his arms and ruffled his hair. It was warm and playful and like nothing he remembered experiencing. Opening his eyes, he found his vision filled with golden light. It took several hard blinks to make out the shape of feathers and he felt an involuntary laugh rise through him in wonder.

Gabriel laughed with him, a sound both musical and magical when Sam could hear their graces respond in kind. "That's better," the archangel said warmly, "now let's get Deano. Then, we can have a _real_ breakfast."

He gave himself the walk through the bunker to focus solely on the feeling of Sam being calm. Every once in a while, fingers would lazily run through his wings and it felt like electricity on wind. _My Dad, I've missed little siblings!_ he thought to himself. The boy really deserved a break. Not just a grace-patch on his soul, but a chance to breathe without constant crisis. "After breakfast, we are going to focus on as much hardcore relaxing as is physically possible with an angel and archangel at your disposal," he mumbled but Sam wasn't paying attention to anything outside the feathers draped over him like a blanket.

Outside the bedroom, Gabriel reluctantly pulled back his wing and returned Sam's over-stimulated mind to the present situation. "Alright, Sammy, you ready to wake this bear? We can ply him with extra food if he starts roaring and eating people's faces."

"See, it's people like you who get their face eaten when they wake others up with rude name calling," a sleep-graveled voice interrupted the pep talk.

* * *

Mary was frantic. Why would her husband—a man who adored and doted on his children—ever say that? "Please tell me that I misunderstood what I heard?" Her voice rose above the sound of Gabriel and Sam whispering to each other.

"Mary," Castiel's voice was low but full of command that made her instantly focus on him, "Let's sit down and give them a minute. Then we'll answer your questions. Would you like some coffee?" He ushered her out of the kitchen toward the couches from the night before.

"Do I want _coffee_? No—I need someone to explain why John would ever say those words to Dean!" she tried to push past the angel, but Castiel was like stone.

"Please," he insisted, "I will explain, but you must calm down if you wish to speak with Sam about this issue. You have the right to be angry—but not at your sons."

Mary searched his face for any hint of deceit. When she found only honesty and compassion, she nodded and allowed him to lead her away from Sam.

 _Gabriel, will you be able to join us?_ Castiel mentally inquired.

 _Not any time soon. This may take a little while. Sammy_ really _didn't want to tell his mom the story of being fed demon blood because he didn't want her to learn about Lucifer and the cage. I've explained that she already knows. He's not happy, but he understands why she needs to be told...Go ahead and explain it to her for now and we can have the boys answer questions later._ There was a pause and Castiel could almost feel his brother sighing. _Well, she can ask them anyway. There's no guarantee that Sam will switch back to English._

 _He speaks Enochian when he is upset. And...Lucifer was not a kind teacher._ Castiel stumbled as he tried to subtly explain Sam's broken speech, then winced when he felt the boy's growing inner turmoil from the other room.

 _That...that actually explains a lot._ Gabriel answered.

 _Gabriel, I do not want to tell her things without Dean's knowledge. He will feel...betrayed. Perhaps you and Sam should go talk to him. It may help Samuel as well—he seems upset._

 _Yeeaahhh, gotta go._

 _He likes our wings,_ Castiel offered up as his brother went silent. He focused back on Mary as they sat down. "Gabriel says he needs some time to calm Sam and that I should go ahead and explain what I can now."

"Is Sammy alright?" she asked, worry clear on her face.

"He is..." he thought of the right words to describe Sam's current condition, "sensitive to the emotions of others. The grace gives him an enormous empathic ability as well as heightening his own emotional state. Before you joined us, he was already struggling with own fear of being no longer accepted by his family due to the change he underwent. Especially after last night's episode."

Mary frowned, "I figured he'd be embarrassed, but why would we not accept him?"

"As you know, John raised the boys to be hunters," Castiel shifted uncomfortably, worried that Dean would be angry at him for revealing any amount of details. But it needed to be said, and he didn't trust the brothers to not skip out on important details that would cast John in a bad light. "He taught them that anything supernatural was to be killed, anything non-human destroyed on principle. After several years of tracking the yellow-eyed demon, he learned what it had done to Sam in the nursery the night of your death. Yellow-eyes, Azazel, fed him demon blood. Your sons later discovered that he had done this to many children around the same time—children he had access to thanks to demon deals with their mothers."

"Oh God!" she gasped, covering her mouth, "He fed my baby demon blood? Why?"

"It activates latent abilities—telekinesis, pyrokinesis, mind-control, super strength, visions of the future. Sam had visions, and later could exorcise demons with his mind without harming the host."

"But why?" she asked again.

"It was to prepare possible vessels for Lucifer." Castiel sighed and turned to fully face her on the sofa, "Everything that every happened to your family was done as a prelude to the apocalypse. Azazel was tasked with finding dozens of potential vessels, but everyone knew it would come down to Sam. He and Dean were destined for their roles. Everyone else was really just a back up plan."

"So, feeding them blood as babies..."

"Prepared their bodies and minds to house an archangel. Remember how angels are compatible with certain bloodlines? Well, all of the children Azazel fed were from the bloodline of Cain, which is tied to Lucifer. For most, the relation was very distant, and they probably would have never been able to contain the archangel. But Sam is a direct descendant through the Campbell line. Just as Dean is a direct descendant of Abel through the Winchester line—which houses Michael. So, it was always meant to end with those two because Heaven ensured their creation and manipulated their lives' events to push them into their roles." Castiel gave her time to absorb everything he'd said.

"So why did John tell Dean that he would have to either save or kill Sammy?" she finally asked.

"Because he was told that the yellow-eyed demon was creating soldiers to lead a demon army. He knew nothing of angels, let alone the plans for the apocalypse. And Sam _was_ meant to lead a demon army. Azazel forced all the ones who showed potential into a death match where the winner gets crowned leader. It would have given Hell time to mold Lucifer's vessel into a powerful, willing tool."

Mary managed to look even more horrified. "What happened?"

Castiel looked away. It was not his place to tell about Sam's death, nor Dean's demon deal and his own trip to Hell. "I do not know all the specifics, and some is not my story to tell. I can say that it did not go to plan, and there was no demon army.

She nodded, accepting his incomplete answer. He had told her plenty for now, although she still had one more question. "Castiel?"

"Yes?" he replied, looking at her again.

"Earlier, you said I had the right to be angry, just not at my sons. Did you mean I should be angry with the demons and angels who were involved in all that? Or were you talking about John?" She held his gaze unblinking.

Castiel's eyes widened, unprepared for her insight. He wanted to look away, but knew Mary would interpret it as deceit rather than shame. "All of them deserve your anger, Mary Winchester."

"But not equally," she kept pushing.

"It is not my place to determine who is worthy to receive greater portions of your anger." Castiel tried to avoid being straightforward.

"Castiel!" she said, exasperated.

"John was not the man you remember," he sighed, "and, while telling Dean to either kill or save Sam was possibly the worst thing he said, it was not the _only_ thing. However, that is also not for me to tell, and that conversation needs to wait until another day." Mary opened her mouth to say something, but Castiel cut her off, "No, I have already said more than I wanted to without Dean present, and the boys need to learn how to trust you before answering questions about their father."

Mary surprised Castiel when, instead of insisting on more answers, she reached up and wrapped the angel in a hug. "Thank you for telling me the truth," she whispered, "and thank you for protecting them when you could."

"You...you are welcome," Castiel responded in a bewildered tone, then added, "They are my family."

"I'm glad. It sounds like they needed one."

The angel jerked back a little and she let him go. He had always seen the boys as a complete unit—two lives completely bound together by trauma and sacrifice and blood. They were The Brothers, a supernatural entity unto themselves, and they were already a family. He'd been adopted by the Winchesters, and while he'd wrestled with his place in their family Castiel had never questioned how they saw him. Never questioned if they needed more than each other.

"You don't think they need you?" she asked with a laugh, seeing his reaction, "I may be new around here, but I knew as soon as we met that he looked to you."

"For what?" his voice was rougher than usual.

"Everything. Support, comfort, confirmation—things that I don't even know how to offer to him because I don't know him yet," she smiled like she was in awe of Castiel, like she wasn't jealous or hurt that he had somehow replaced her, "When I first saw _this_ Dean, he was terrifying. Tall and dangerous and he came storming out of a dark wooded area full of mist. I didn't know who he was, but I was really surprised how easy it was to take him to the ground.

"After we got past our introductions and we made our way to the bunker, I remember thinking how confident and unshakable he seemed. Just broad stunning smiles and witty optimism. I never realized he'd just come from saving the whole damn universe, or that he was worried because Sammy wasn't answering the phone. But when we pulled up and he saw you—I realized I'd only seen a mask because I watched it crumble and get replaced by such relief."

Castiel tilted his head in confusion, "I do not understand."

Mary smiled, "Dean had just spent three hours pretending like it was perfectly normal to drive around with his dead mom. It was cold and distant now that I've gotten to know him better. But when he saw you, and knew he could finally be himself, it was the first time I really saw _Dean_. My Dean. And he's looked to you ever since that moment. When we found the blood, and then Sam, he looked to you for guidance and support. He defers to your judgment, even when he fights about it first. He trusts you. They both do. Don't think I've missed how Sam soaks up your attention like summer sun."

Castiel felt a smile settle on his face and rubbed the back of his neck, "I honestly never saw them as needing me. I've tried to remain useful to them, even when I was reduced to living as a human. But they've always been _my_ family. I didn't think they saw me as _their_ family."

"Well, allow me to reassure you. They do. You're a very special person, Castiel, and I hope one day you and I can consider each other family too."

* * *

Dean had been content drifting through the space between sleep and consciousness. It was a rare event for the hunter to wake relaxed instead of alert and tense. That bubble of contentment was burst when the echo of footsteps broke through his awareness and he recognized the snarky voice of the Trickster.

The silence that followed Dean's own sassy comeback was unsettling enough to make him sit up and try to get his eyes to focus past his mental fog. Checking his watch proved it was still early, but a glance around the empty room worked to clear the sleepiness faster than anything else. "Gabriel, where is everyone? Where's Sam? Where's my mom and Cas?" Dean ordered as he turned on a table lamp and stood up.

"Whoa there, cowboy! Do all humans wake up assuming the world is ending, or is that a Winchester special? Relax, man, I got Sam right here," he turned as he walked into the light to show mini-Sam, in his footie pajamas, perched on the archangel's hip. It would have been cute if not for the fact that his brother was face-planting into Gabriel's jacket in obvious distress.

"Yeah? What's wrong with him? What did you do to upset him? I swear to God, if you've..." Dean's voice was calculating and calm as his eyes took in every detail of the two. The kid was letting their newest stray house-guest parade him through the house while clearly upset. Wait, not just upset—he was hiding from Dean. "Sammy?" the hunter's voice softened to a tone reserved just for assessing and reassuring his brother.

Sam shook his head without lifting it, rubbing his face against the fabric. "S'r'y," came the mumbled reply.

"About...last night? Dude, I promise, you did not need to make a special apology at six in the morning," Dean reassured, and a little confused how this constituted a crisis before sunrise.

"Not just that," Sam said as he pulled back from Gabriel's shoulder enough to be clearly heard, but still wouldn't look at Dean.

"What else are you sorry about?" he asked, bewildered.

"I promise, I didn't mean to say it! I didn't know...didn't know she was there. I never..." the kid was hyperventilating as he tried to start the story half a dozen times.

Dean's eyes moved from his brother to Gabriel, eyebrows raised to demand explanation.

The archangel sighed, "Cassie and I took Sam to the kitchen when he woke up so we could discuss stuff without waking you and your mom. We got to talking about his concern over not being human anymore," Gabriel's eyes stayed locked on Dean, encouraging him silently to listen between the lines. The hunter knew 'concern' was Sam's default mode, and on a topic like that 'concern' probably more closely resembled 'tripping into terror.' He nodded to Gabriel that he understood what he was really saying and he was surprised to see relief on the shorter man's face before he kept speaking, "Sam mentioned something John said before he died. And...your mom heard."

It took a second for Dean to figure out what Sam had said. His eyes widened and his hand flew up to his hair, "Oh shit, you said...you said that Dad told me I'd have to...and Mom heard you? What did she do?" Morbid curiosity mixed with his need to assess the situation with their mother.

"She demanded answers. I had Castiel explain the basics of Azazel's part in your lives. If I heard correctly, he told your mother how John only knew about the plans for Sam to lead the demon army and that the demon's plan failed. Cas didn't go into Sam's death or your deal. He wouldn't betray your confidence." Gabriel's eyes shone with a seriousness and understanding that was starting to unnerve Dean.

"Did she say anything stupid?"

That question wiped all the understanding from Gabriel as he laughed, his face scrunched up in bewilderment, "Like what? Ask for Azazel's blood type?"

"No," Dean's aggressive protectiveness wasn't distracted by the sass, "I mean did she upset Sam? Did she try to defend our dad."

"Oh," Gabriel looked down at the kid who was staring holes into the archangel's shirt. He used his free hand to rub Sam's back in what appeared to be an unconscious gesture, "No, I'm pretty sure there is no defense for your dad. And last I saw Mary, she was more likely to resurrect John and kill him again than she was to defend him."

"Good," the hunter said gruffly, then softened as he turned all his focus to his brother, "So what's got you upset, Sammy? Did you think I'd freak out? Or is this about last night?"

At first, it wasn't clear if Sam was going to answer, but then they heard a small voice whisper, "Both."

"Hey Gabe, you mind sitting him on the bed for me?" Dean sat on the edge of his mattress and patted the space beside him. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but lowered the kid to the requested spot. Without the archangel distracting him, Sam quickly seemed to realize there was no escaping a talk with his brother. The problem for Dean was that Sam was too short for this conversation to happen side-by-side.

With a sigh, Dean eased himself off the bed, joints popping, and knelt facing Sam. "Alright, dude, talk to me."

Sam shrugged, but his brother waited him out, knowing the kid could never pass up the chance to talk. His patience was rewarded when Sam squirmed after only thirty seconds and caved in, "I just worry...that it's a lot. A lot to accept at once."

"Is it a lot for _you_ to accept?" Dean asked.

"What? That's not..." Sam huffed, knowing his brother had deliberately turned his words against him, "I mean, yes, it's been hard. Less than a week ago, I was prepared to take the Mark, God almost died, then _you_ almost died and I was shot and now mom's back and Gabriel's back. It hasn't all sunk in yet."

Dean nodded, "I agree, those are all big things that will take time to process. But you didn't wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and have an existential crisis over any of them."

"I...I guess that the thing from last night was still fresh in my mind when I first woke up. The angel-squad was worried I'd still be upset and wanted to talk. That's all."

"That's all, huh? You just talked about Michael and Raphael returning?" the hunter's voice was quiet and intense.

Sam flinched and his breath caught at the resurgence of fear caused by _that_ thought, "N-no."

"Then what _did_ you talk about?"

"I told you! That all of this would be too much accept." Sam gestured vaguely around them.

Dean's eyes lit up in understanding, "You think we won't accept you now that you're different?"

"What?! No, that's not what..." Sam rushed to deny his brother's words.

"Really Sam?" he used his 'how dumb do you think I am' voice, "So what, you were just casually discussing your 'concerns' about being turned into some kind of baby angel, and happened to mention John's dying words?"

"No...no..." the kid kept shaking his head.

"Who else in this universe knows the hell those words put us through besides me and you? No one! You can lie to everyone else and gloss over what you 'really meant,' but not me. I know, and I'm tired of those words haunting us." Dean framed his little brother's face with his hands, forcing the kid to look at him and quit shaking his head. "Dad. Was. Wrong. I don't give a shit how scared he was, or how hard he tried, because he was wrong for even thinking it. Saving you will always be my priority. _You_ will always be my priority, understand?"

Tears fell over the baby-round cheeks and Dean promptly wiped them with his thumbs. Sam stared at him in confusion, "But I'm not human, Dean!"

Rolling his eyes, "So? What, I should be mad because Chuck saved your life? I mean, if my options are a tiny angel brother or a dead human brother, I'll take my chances and try not to trip over you."

"That's...you're not..." Sam tripped over his words, "You're not taking this seriously!"

"I couldn't be more serious, kiddo. How many times have we been changed by the supernatural? We've been infected, bitten, healed, put under spells, swapped bodies, possessed, killed, and resurrected. I've lost count it happens so often! And we've always rolled with it. I was a demon—a full knight of hell—and you stayed by my side. Now you've got some angel-grace and I should get out the holy oil? Fuck that, dude."

"You really think that?" Sam asked, breathless with the possibility.

"Yeah, Sammy, I really think that," Dean smoothed down the boy's curls and pulled him into a hug, "And I think mom is a little relieved that one of us is kid-sized."

Sam gave a laugh through his tears and gently smacked the back of his brother's head, "I can't believe you let her dress me."

"Ha! You try stopping her. She even had Cas and Gabe jumping to do her bidding," he smirked over to the archangel who was leaning against the wall watching them.

Gabriel took the invitation to rejoin the conversation, "Hey, no fair. She was in total mom-mode! Angels don't even have moms...we had no defense against her."

"Whatever, mamma's boy. Let's get out there before she has Cas spilling inappropriate insights about pizza men or bees," he pulled back from Sam to look him over. His brother was still shaken and emotionally unsteady, but he was smiling and making eye contact. "You ready?"

Sam chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. "I guess. It's not like we can hide in here forever, right?"

"I love you, but I'm not spending eternity in this room. Come on," he helped Sam off the bed and didn't let go until the boy had his balance, "Are your feet warm enough, or should we get some slippers you can fit your footsies into?" Dean laughed when the only response he was given was a tiny middle finger.


	9. Don't Shoot the Messenger pt 3

**DON'T SHOOT THE MESSENGER** **  
PART 3**

Mary prepared coffee while she and Castiel waited in the kitchen for the others. Nerves ate away at her stomach as she kept picturing Sammy's face in his crib moments before her death. Before a demon had bled into his mouth to prepare him for Lucifer. For the destruction of the world.

No matter how many times the angels argued with her that it wasn't her fault, Mary knew she would always carry that weight on her shoulders. It was her choice to accept the demon's deal that sealed her youngest son's fate. _My whole family's fate, really,_ she thought to herself. Sam lost any chance at a normal life as he was placed on a path filled with manipulation. Dean lost his innocence and childhood. And John lost himself.

Her hands clenched as she thought of what her husband had done to their children. She wasn't naive—being raised in a stable family of hunters didn't mean she hadn't met other hunter families in less stable situations. The Campbells had a reputation for being a powerhouse of information and contacts. It was normal for her family to house hunters passing through. Some needed help with a hunt or lore. Some came to pass on a message or lead from mutual friends. Most were solitary wanderers, but occasionally they got a small family—refugees of the supernatural war.

The parents were always angry and terrified, eyes bloodshot from not sleeping, usually heavy drinkers, and single. But the impressions that stuck with Mary were of the kids. Unnaturally silent and suspicious of strange adults, siblings clinging to each other, skinny bodies in over-sized dirty clothes.

She knew there was a chance her boys hadn't been exactly like those other children she'd met. But she remembered Sam and Dean at the store, both completely unsure of themselves and emotionally conflicted over such a mundane task as basic clothes shopping. She saw how Dean was used to making Sam his number one priority, whether it was in a crisis or simply getting the boy fed and dressed. It was clearly a deeply ingrained part of the brothers' relationship—even the angels deferred to Dean's judgment.

Every time Mary pictured the boys as children, she saw John and her fury would make her shake again. No matter how many excuses could be given to him for circumstances being beyond his control, there was no excuse for considering the murder of their baby. And for him to tell Dean that it was their son's responsibility to carry out? Completely unforgivable.

"Mary," Castiel's rumbling voice startled Mary out of her dark thoughts and back to the present.

She jumped when she realized he was now standing right next to her, "Yes?"

"I wanted to make sure you were alright...and let you know the others will be joining us in a few minutes," he looked worried.

"Right. I should probably calm down so I don't overwhelm Sammy," she said, trying to smile and control her anger, "I was thinking of John," she offered in explanation.

The angel nodded, though still concerned. "I understand. Is there anything I can do?"

Mary gave a laugh, "Thanks, but I got this. Sometimes, parents just have to stow their crap and focus on their kids." She poured herself a cup of coffee for something to do. "Would you like some coffee, Castiel?"

"No, thank you. Angels do not need to eat or drink or sleep."

"We may not need it, but that doesn't mean some of us haven't learned to appreciate the finer things on Earth." Gabriel's cheerful voice rang through the kitchen as he entered.

Dean was right on his heels looking awkward but determined. Mary watched him glance her way before he sought out Castiel for some sign of reassurance. He must have received it because she saw some of the tension drain away. She worried Sam might have stayed behind when she didn't see the boy, but then she finally spied him standing behind his brother's legs. He hesitantly returned her smile when he caught her looking at him and she had to shove down the images of similar children.

"Good morning boys," Mary said nervously, "we would have made breakfast, but I didn't want to be responsible for destroying the kitchen."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm here then! I've been a master chef in no fewer than 57 countries, during at least seven separate centuries. Cassie, you want to learn the art of making the perfect omelet?" Gabriel didn't wait for an answer—just hooked an arm through his brother's elbow and led him away from the entrance.

"Mom," Dean started, but Mary shushed him and wrapped her arms around him. She felt Dean's shoulders tighten at her touch, but his muscles melted as she spoke.

"You don't have to explain anything. We can talk about later if you want to, but for right now let me just say this," she took a steadying breath, "I am so sorry. John should never have even _thought_ those words, let alone said them to you. I can't imagine..."

"Hey, it's okay, Mom," Dean whispered as he clutched at the back of her robe, "We know. Sam and I've talked about it a few times over the years and we know what he said was wrong. We've had time to work through most of it, although I'm sure we'll find something to rehash down the road. So try not to worry about it too much, okay? It wasn't your fault."

"Don't you dare try to comfort me, Dean Winchester. I'm the parent here," she said with a half-laugh and a playful slap to the back of his head, "Besides, I haven't even reached the 'worry about it' stage. I can't get past 'angry enough to punch walls.'"

"Well, our family's known for our tempers."

"Are we now?" Mary asked as she felt Dean's feet shift, and his left arm drop. Thinking he wanted to end their hug, she started to relax her hold but he just held tighter with his right arm.

"Oh, yeah, we're legendary from Heaven to Earth to Hell and all the places in between. You'll fit right in."

"Good to know," was all she say through the happiness from his words. Her son just patted her back, then straightened up with a little smirk. When she raised an eyebrow at his expression, he nodded his head to a space below on his left.

She looked down to find wide hazel eyes shifting between her and Dean. Mary noted that Dean's left hand was gently working the tangles from Sam's hair, and further down her eldest son's barefoot was carefully pinning one footie of his brother's pajamas to the ground. The sight left her a little giddy when she recognized the action as one she'd used regularly on Dean as a toddler. The stretched-out-of-place fabric proved he'd stopped the boy mid-escape, but the stunning uncertainty on her youngest son's face told her that something more than Dean's foot was keeping Sam in place.

A glance back up to her eldest got her the nod she needed to know it was okay to approach Sam. It made her chest ache to know she would be a stranger to her youngest for a while yet. The conversation last night provided her with a lot more context for her boys' lives but it had been hard to reconcile the others' descriptions of Sam with the little boy she'd bathed and dressed. In his sleep, he'd nestled into her like he recognized her—either as his mother or a source of safety. But the child she'd held in her arms was different from the one standing before her now. In the light of morning, she could see the weight of age in his eyes.

Kneeling down, Mary rested her hands on her thighs to keep from reaching out to him. She saw Dean start to step away when he made a grunt noise and shifted back into place. He had the barest hint of a smile on his face, like he was purposefully trying to keep a neutral expression. Looking back down, Mary realized that Sam had his fingers unconsciously curled on the side hem of Dean's sweatpants. It was a testament to the brothers' level of non-verbal communication that the barest pressure was enough to keep Dean in place. Thinking about it, she realized they had probably been having a silent conversation throughout her entire spoken one.

"Sam, I'm sorry if my reaction this morning upset you. I was not mad at you and I will never agree with John's words," her palms began to sweat and she wiped them against the robe's fabric in a nervous habit. How could she not know how to speak to her own child? Dean was easier because he knew her, remembered her enough that it showed when he looked at her, and Mary recognized her little boy in that look. But Sam and her didn't have that shared memory.

"I do that," Sam said, looking down.

"You...get angry?" she asked.

"Well, I do that too," he glanced up through his messy curls then gestured toward her lap, "but I meant _that_. My hands sweat when I get nervous and I'm always wiping them on my pant legs." He said it with in a tone crossed between matter-of-fact seriousness and the awe of someone who'd just received a revelation.

"Oh, really?" she said, surprised by the sudden change in topic.

"Kid's not joking. Never seen anyone who sweats like he does. I would threaten to cover him in deodorant every night so _I_ wouldn't wake up drenched because _someone_ couldn't sleep unless he plastered himself to me." Dean grinned at the memory.

Sam glared up at him and his brother's cheeky smile faded, "You _did_ do that, Dean! You took one of Dad's new sticks and used almost the whole thing on me. Including my hair!"

"Oh yeah!" Dean's smile beamed back in place, "I forgot about that. That was awesome."

"How old were you?" Mary asked, trying to picture them.

"It was not awesome. I smelled like Old Spice for weeks," Sam insisted to his brother, then turned to Mary. His voice was quieter, a little shy like he'd forgotten for a second that she was there, "I think I was about five or six, so Dean must have been at least nine. Old enough to know better." The last bit was said with the now-familiar dramatic scowl.

"Yeah, but dad's reaction," Dean's breath hitched as he tried not to laugh while talking, "He...I thought he would kill me, so I tried to stuff you under the blankets and hoped he wouldn't notice. But the second he walked in the room, oh god..." he trailed off as he couldn't fight the laughter anymore and sank to sit on the floor next to them.

"Hilarious, jerk," Sam mumbled but resigned himself that his brother wouldn't be deterred.

Dean scrunched his face up in a re-enactment of John's reaction, "'Did my cologne break? Oh god, how are you guys breathing?' Dad shoves up the window and starts tearing through his duffle, trying to find where the smell was coming from. He sees the deodorant stick sitting out on the sink and hears Sam giggling from under the blanket where I'm trying to smother him into silence. Then, he walks over to us and flings the blanket back," tears pour down Dean's cheeks as he gets caught in another laughing fit, "And the smell, it's like a cloud rising and it's so strong that Dad's eyes start to water and he just stares at Sam like he's an alien."

"That's because there was chunks of waxy goop smeared all over me! And all the lint and dust stuck to it so I probably looked disgusting." Sam's scowl grew and was joined by hands on his hips.

The description only made Dean laugh harder and the sight made Mary's heart flutter with joy, "What happened?" she asked, grinning.

"When Dad was done howling with laughter? Just scooped him up, and dumped him in the bath. Then he threw the deodorant away. Told me he didn't want know what happened and to never do it again. But I'll tell you what—he never did wear Old Spice again. Started using things with almost no scent to them."

Mary could see it—her boys getting into their dad's bag and doing something so mischievous and normal for little kids. And she recognized some of her John in there. Maybe he wasn't a complete caricature of the other hunter parents she'd encountered. Maybe there were enough moments like this for them growing up to keep the horrors balanced.

"Why are you all on the floor?" a gravelly voice spoke from behind Mary. She jumped but the sudden intrusion didn't phase the boys even though it seemed like they hadn't noticed Castiel's approach either.

"I'm standing, Cas!" Sam protested, turning his scorn on the angel.

She tilted her head all the way back in time to see Castiel nod, "My apologies, Sam. You are all a lot lower to the ground from my perspective."

"What the hell are you wearing?" Dean asked, on the verge of going into another laughing fit.

"Gabriel said it was necessary," he answered, and Mary thought she could detect a trace of annoyance for the first time in the angel's voice.

She got back onto her feet and turned to look at what Dean was talking about. She laughed before she could stop herself. Castiel had lost the trench coat and suite jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. A black apron with the words "Kiss the Cook" in bright red letters was tied around his neck and waist. And it probably was necessary because it was covered in flour...and possibly a whole egg.

"Wow," was all she managed to say. Hopefully, the kitchen was still standing.

Dean stood and looked Castiel in the eye and quoted John again, "I don't want to know what happened. Just don't do it again."

"What happened? Don't do what? I was only assisting Gabriel in making breakfast. Is that not something I should do again?" Castiel's frown deepened when Dean just laughed harder and slapped the angel on the shoulder. A large plume of flour burst from the fabric.

"Ignore him, Cas," Sam answered him when Dean walked away without another word.

"Does he think he's 'being cute?'" Castiel asked with exasperated seriousness and using his air-quote gesture.

The laughter bubbled out of Mary and this time she did nothing to stop it. In all her limited time spent imagining angels as a girl, none of her musings came close to the two she now knew. This awkward little warrior who protected and loved her boys from within a cloud of constant befuddlement, and the archangel with a foul mouth and sharp wit who was cooking them breakfast.

Sam's laugh joined her own and it was music to her ears, "He thinks he's adorable."

"Y'all better get in here before Dean eats everything!" Gabriel's voice called through the kitchen.

Mary looked down to see Sam struggling to straighten his pajamas and nodded to Castiel, "We'll be right there." For a second, he seemed torn about leaving them, but then gave her a smile smile and returned to Gabriel. Kneeling back down, she gently held Sam's arm to steady him as he pulled the twisted fabric back into place. "You're very good at that, you know," she stated.

"At what? Failing to properly wear clothes?" Sam asked with a huff, but the little grin made the sarcasm warm instead of biting.

"No, you're good at derailing a conversation," she whispered conspiratorially.

Sam's head shot up, grin fading to a firm line of worry. "I'm sorry, I didn't...I saw you doing that thing that _I_ do, and I just wanted...to say something. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Hey now, I'm not scolding you, Sammy," she reassured, leaving her hand on his arm to keep the connection, "I'm complimenting you."

"You...what?" he asked, the worry now shifting to confusion.

"You didn't just get sweaty palms and a death scowl from me. And while your father may have changed after my death, I doubt he developed a talent for subtlety. I can see some of him in how Dean takes everything head on—whether it's a crisis or a conversation. But you and I? We come at things with much more nuance. We prefer to do all our research ahead of time instead of barging in and demanding answers. Am I right?"

Sam nodded and a smile slowly grew, lighting his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered.

"Then as one master to another, I want to compliment you. And I also wanted to finish what I was saying," she held his gaze until he nodded again, "I know that we are strangers—or maybe more estranged relatives who have only heard of each other. But I already love the person you've become, Sam. You are patient and kind and selfless."

"Not always," Sam blushed.

"Well, we're all human." The words came out before she could stop them. Sam's blush drained away and his eyes dropped to the ground. Cursing herself, Mary brought both her hands up to rest on Sam's neck, her thumbs gently running along his jaw to nudge his face back up. "Sweetheart, I also know that in the black-and-white world of hunting, there is often little tolerance for shades of gray. I'm sorry that you were made to doubt yourself. That John made you doubt yourself," she felt him give his head a little shake and she wasn't sure if he was trying to deny her words or John's actions, "I will be eternally grateful to a God I never believed in for saving you. If it means you aren't completely human because of His actions, then that is just fine. Anything that gives me more time with you, that lets you heal, is a blessing in my book."

Sam hesitantly brought a hand up to wrap around her wrist, but he didn't draw her hands away from his face. Instead, she felt little fingers move along her skin, cataloging the bones and pulse point. "You really mean that?" he asked shyly.

"I really do."

Footsteps behind her drew Sam's attention and she saw him nod at whoever had stopped a few paces away. "We're coming. And you better not have eaten everything!"

Mary smiled. Of course it was Dean, who was probably frantic when they hadn't joined him after a minute or two. Standing up, she turned to smile reassuringly at Dean. The minute amount of tension that eased from his eyes was a sudden unexpected victory for her in a morning full of floundering. She patted his shoulder as she walked past and heard him start talking quietly to Sam.

"You good, man?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm good." She heard a brief scuffle and a frustrated groan. "Quit stepping on these foot-things, you jerk, or I'm cutting the feet out! I'm not joking, Dean."

"What would you tell mom, huh? That _Cas_ chewed them off?"

There was a pause. "Do you think she'd buy it?"

"Maybe. I probably would."

Laughing to herself, Mary thought maybe she hadn't completely missed the boys' childhoods after all.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
Thanks again to everyone who's been commenting!  
Y'all are amazing and I've felt humbled and blessed by all of you.


	10. Breaking the Fast pt1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
Enochian is in bold  
** _Thoughts/angel-radio/telepathy is in italics_

* * *

 **BREAKING THE FAST** **  
PART 1**

Sam Winchester was convinced he had walked into the wrong kitchen. In the wrong bunker. Possibly in the wrong universe.

He heard Dean curse when he came to a sudden stop in front of the older hunter, but the stunning sight kept him in place. "Damn it, Sammy! You trying to kill me down there? What...the fuck happened in here?!" His brother's voice trailed off in wonder.

Dozens of colorful dishes were spread across the table and spilling out onto the island like some kind of holiday feast. All of Dean's favorites were present in multiple forms including several different pies ranging from a meat/cheese/egg combo to sweet fruits. Sam recognized several as coming from different world regions, and a few he couldn't even name a single ingredient. It smelled like he'd stepped into an Old World bakery where wood burning stoves were at full blaze and fresh breads baked in hints of smoke and fresh herbs.

The kitchen was sparkling clean and lit with countless tealight candles. Soft music played from a new radio. Scratch that—new sound system, high quality and flawlessly installed inside the bunker walls. The only remaining sign of mishap was Castiel, the walking evidence of disaster. The flour and egg from earlier was almost covered by bright fruit preserves, batter splatter, and what looked like curry. Clearly, much more had happened in the cooking extravaganza since seeing the angel ten minutes ago.

"Did you have this much food to cook with in the bunker?" Mary asked from Sam's left and he turned to see she was as astonished as he and Dean. He just shook his head no and looked back at the spectacle.

"Do you think Sully teamed up with Gabe on this?" Dean whispered.

"Oh God," Sam gulped at the idea. Those two would probably try to build him a fort on the moon if they thought he'd find it fun.

"Where did he get the food? _When_ did he get the food?" Mary kept asking.

That made Dean's head jerk back up, "Gabriel, did you bend space-time in my kitchen?"

The archangel popped into existence in the middle of the room carrying two more dishes of fresh fruits. "What? Of course I bent space-time. How else was I going to get all this done under such limited conditions?" He set the platters on the counter top and Sam could see he was wearing a spotless knit sweater that said "I'm the Cook" in big block letters. Golden eyes lit on Castiel and his jaw dropped in a flare of panic, "Castiel! Did you clean the kitchen with your face and shirt? Do not move, you'll just smear it on everything." He snapped and Castiel jumped as all the evidence of food disappeared revealing the clean apron with the order to "Kiss the Cook."

Sam's eyes darted back to Gabriel's sweater and he groaned at the joke.

"Like it, mini-moose? I can make your pajama-things match us." It was all Trickster-teasing staring back at Sam, running his thumb over the tips of his other fingers like he was deciding which one to snap.

Sam tried to step back but he ran into Dean's knees and wouldn't risk losing eye-contact with the menace. "My mom bought these—don't you dare touch them!" he shot back. Mary snorted and he suddenly realized she'd probably heard him and Dean's plot to get rid of the embarrassing clothing. He wanted to look at her but Gabriel was walking toward him. Sam pressed his back as hard as he could against his brother but the man's legs were unmovable. _This is the signal to retreat, Dean, so retreat already!_

"See, this is why you kids are such easy, delicious targets to everything in the universe." Gabriel stood in front of Sam, staring down at him with his thumbs casually hooked in his jean pockets.

"Oh, yeah? And why is that?" Sam scoffed, trying to conceal how nervous the whole Trickster-side was making him.

They studied each other for a minute, looking for accidental tells hidden behind an expression. Gradually, warmth seeped back into the golden eyes and his sharp smile softened. Sam felt something loosen in his chest at the sight, although he still didn't fully trust the archangel aspect of Gabriel. "Because you are so fun to rile up, Samshine. Honestly, you two are like comedy gold. And now that I've made at least nine different dishes with bacon, permanently ingratiating myself to your older brother, I know I'll have a front-seat to the best entertainment in my Father's creation."

"How can you even make bacon in nine different ways?" Dean blurted.

"One involves doughnuts," Gabriel beamed proudly.

"Way to focus on the important issues, Dean," muttered Sam.

"Bacon doughnuts are very important right now. So is coffee," his brother said, nudging Sam with his knees, "Move it, short-stuff. We can discuss all the angel house rules while we eat." Dean stepped around him, and Sam almost fell at the sudden loss of physical support.

"Just remember," Gabriel's hand shot to the passing hunter's shoulder, making Dean pause, "as you eat the most amazing food ever to grace your presence, that you'd have waited for three days to even smell it if I'd cooked without a little reality-bending."

Dean just pushed past the shorter man and started inspecting dishes. Mary trailed behind him looking every bit the out-of-place-time-traveler being confronted with yet another mind-blowing aspect of the future. Then Sam wondered what it said about he and Dean's life that magically created feasts were harder to accept than a resurrected family member.

Sweeping his gaze over the glowing kitchen, Sam was let himself consider the vast amounts of energy and effort this kind of endeavor took. "This...is a lot," he said in a low voice.

"Well, I've seen how Dean eats," Gabriel said wryly.

Sam shook his head and looked him in the eye, "This is a lot," he repeated.

The archangel winced, "Too much?"

"No. No. Well, yes, but I'm just..." he struggled for the right words, "People don't _cook_ for us. You didn't have to do all this."

Gabriel shrugged, "Meh, I like cooking. It lets me work off nervous energy and gives me time to think."

"Three days worth of thinking?" Sam asked pointedly.

"Hey, I woke up to a world where my Aunt and my Dad share drinks. That alone qualifies for a mini-cooking marathon," his face broke in a grin, "Plus, best breakfast ever. A solid win for all involved."

"Okay," Sam said, still unsure, "Just...regardless of any promises and threats Dean makes mid-meal, we really don't need _this much_ on a regular basis. And should you be wasting your grace on bending time or space or making pocket-universe kitchens or whatever? We could potentially be dealing with all three of your older brothers..."

"Sam," Gabriel stopped him as he crouched down on one knee, and Sam shuffled back a step when he was suddenly face-to-face with confused and concerned eyes, "what is going on in that head of yours? 'Wasting my grace?' That's not how grace works, kiddo. It's not a limited pool that goes down with each use. Believe me, I'll teach you all about it, but in the meantime, you don't need to worry that cooking breakfast will leave me under-powered against a threat. Nothing will get close enough to sneeze on you while I'm around. What you need to focus on is enjoying my culinary genius. When's the last time you ate?"

Pushing aside his instinctive need to ask questions and demand a plan-of-action for worst-case scenarios, Sam struggled to recall the last time anyone had ever told him and Dean to not worry because they were being protected. Not their Dad—he gave them guns as children and expected them to defend themselves against monsters and strangers. Not even Chuck, who had relied on the brothers to save Him and the world. Sam wasn't sure he knew how to trust someone besides Dean or Castiel to have his back in battle. He didn't think he could trust _anyone_ to exclusively oversee his safety.

Gabriel's voice cut through his thoughts, "If it's taking you this long to remember, then chances are it's been too long. Come on. Eat now, angst later." He mussed Sam's hair as he stood, then nudged the back of his head to move him toward the table.

It took a couple seconds of steady pressure for Sam to get his feet to move. He walked—an awkward endeavor when wearing clothes that constantly shifted. There were only two chairs left, and Sam hoisted himself into the one on the end of the table next to Dean. The other was to his right and next to Castiel, and while Sam didn't mind sitting next to his friend, he didn't think he could take being wedged between the two angels.

His height made sitting at the table uncomfortable because it put him barely eye-level with his plate. Dean had tried to get a booster seat at the store, but Sam was adamantly against it, saying he'd sit on a book if it was necessary. Now, though, it was isolating to not clearly see the people he could hear talking across the table.

A soft chuckle behind him was the only warning Sam got before he felt a hand grasp the chair back. The chair resonated and rose, growing upwards until he was at the perfect height. The hand ruffled his hair again, then Gabriel sat beside him. "Much better. Now it won't feel like I'm sneaking food to the sad puppy under the table. Why isn't everyone eating?"

"We _all_ thought we should wait for you two," Mary said, but Sam caught Dean's eye-roll and guessed that it hadn't originally been a unanimous decision.

"What took you two so long? Swapping recipes while the rest of us starved?" Dean grumbled while grabbing his plate. The others followed him, Mary asking Gabriel questions about what he'd made.

Sam ignored him as he contemplated his newest dilemma. The food was spread throughout the kitchen on surfaces too high to reach, and while he could jump off the higher-chair, he would have to drag a stool and his food to get back up. That didn't factor in the full-cup of coffee he'd been guaranteed that morning.

Before he could consider his situation any further, a hand reached down and took his empty plate only to replace it with one piled high with food. There was fresh fruit, and sauteed vegetables, and a spicy smoked meat, and the curry he'd seen splashed across Castiel's apron. He looked up in time to see Dean take his empty plate and demand Gabriel point out the dishes with bacon.

When the others returned, Sam tapped Dean's knee with his foot. "Thanks," he said when the hunter looked up.

His brother grinned, "I got you the things that smelled weird and didn't look like breakfast. Figured that's what you'd want."

"Well, thanks for not giving me your Nine Course Heart Attack," he said, frowning at Dean's overflowing plate with a large doughnut balanced precariously at the top.

"Whatever, if I get to choose my next death, it's gonna involve this right here," Dean waved the maple frosting with bacon sprinkles doughnut in front of Sam's nose before taking a large bite. The man's whole body froze, and for a split second Sam feared something was wrong. The image of Dean sitting at a motel table eating tacos on a Tuesday flashed in Sam's mind. Then, the hunter held one hand up to get Gabriel's attention, "This. Is. Awesome."

"Told ya!" Gabriel said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky confidence and turning to Sam, "What about you? Ready to express adoration?" The archangel's eyes glanced down to his untouched plate, and looked back up with an expression that clearly said 'start eating or suffer the airplane impressions as I feed you.'

Sam grabbed a piece of fruit with his fingers and shoved it in his mouth. The absolute freshness almost made him gasp, but he stopped before he could choke. The taste was unbelievable and unlike anything he'd gotten in diners or the store.

"Figures you'd go for the only thing I didn't cook. Although, I did have to go to the best individual year for each type of fruit and pick the best of each crop. So I guess that still counts," Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly.

Looking from his plate to the platter of fruit in the kitchen, Sam counted what all he could identify then leveled his gaze back on the archangel. "Gabriel, there are at least a dozen different kinds of berries and melons and fruits here."

"Yeah, so?" the gold in his eyes was bright.

"So, you time hopped over a dozen times to get fresh groceries?" Sam asked, exasperated. Gabriel could brag all he wanted about how his grace was unending, but time travel used an enormous amount of power and always drained the angels who had done it around Sam. Even Lucifer...

"Yes," Gabriel drew the word out slowly like he'd been asked a trick question.

Thinking about it now, though, it seemed more likely Lucifer had merely been thrown by the sigils on the submarine. What Sam had read as Castiel's desperation to retrieve the friend he'd failed was really Lucifer's frustration at being denied his goal. Sam shuddered. The sick, cold panic of losing his brother to a war in the past battled with the burning hot fear of losing Castiel to a fool's errand. Neither situation was acceptable, and he did the only thing he could to prevent both by offering his soul's energy to his friend. Only to have Lucifer shove him against a pillar and thrust a hand into his chest.

He remembered the sensation of the fallen archangel's icy grace wrapped around his broken soul as being worse than the flashbacks, or even his recent physical altercation with the devil wearing Nick's face in the cage. It was a pain more familiar than home.

"Whoa there," a voice said and Sam felt warmth cascade over him. Fingers landed light on his face until his vision was filled with grace-glowing eyes. "That didn't look like a fun place you just drifted to, kiddo. You back now?"

Sam blinked and the present returned around him. He felt the others watching him, but he kept his gaze on Gabriel. "What if something had happened?" his tone serious with only a slight tremor slipping past his control, "You could have run into anyone, including Lucifer! What if he'd found you after you'd just time-hopped a bunch of times?" They had no idea what all the devil had done while wearing Castiel so for all they knew he could have gone through the past looking for other weapons. There hadn't been time for that conversation yet.

"Sam, I know where my brother is at times and places," Gabriel said with a quiet intensity and hint of desperation, "I've been on Earth for a very long time. It's almost impossible for anything to get the jump on me. As an archangel, I can tell you where every single one of my siblings are at this very moment, and I can name each one that has been lost since my death. If Lucifer leaves this timeline, I will know. I will be able to follow him, and he would know because he can feel me too. Which is why we are staying far away from each other. Now, please stop worrying about my grace, and eat before you hurt my feelings." He ended his serious speech by fluttering his lashes dramatically.

"But..." Sam started, but was cut off by a voice to his left.

"Dude, we've lowered the threat level from nuclear to, like, green. We can afford to a meal or two before we have to spiral back into a crisis, okay?" Sam stared at his older brother, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or just trying to reassure him. But Dean wasn't coddling him, and there was no hint of mockery despite his words.

"Sam," Castiel's voice drew everyone's attention, "I believe you are mistaken in how you perceive Gabriel's grace to work. Archangels are different from the other angels. Besides being much more powerful, they also do not require a connection with Heaven and the host to retain their grace. He has an infinite supply. So while time travel can drain most angels, it would have no measurable effect on him. Also, remember that he is 'fully-charged,'" the air-quotes caused a few fond smiles around the table, "while Lucifer was ejected from my vessel after fighting against Amara. Right now, he is weakened and vessel-less. We would possibly have the advantage even without Gabriel."

Blue eyes patiently held his own until Sam released his breath and finally nodded in acceptance. He'd needed the explanation, and was grateful Castiel had seen and given it. "Okay," he said to the others. Everyone relaxed again as he pushed his unanswered questions down and focused on his food. Steam still rose from the cooked portions and he immediately took a bite to distract himself from the thinking about whether Gabriel was using grace to continuously heat everything.

A full mug of coffee found its way next to his plate, perfectly fixed to his liking, and he made himself to relax. The food really was amazing, and it didn't take long for Sam to lose himself in the joy of sharing the meal with everyone. Gabriel kept making Castiel try different things and showed him how to use his grace to taste it. It took several tries, but the shocked look on the younger angel's face when he finally got the hang of it made Gabriel beam with pride.

"So, Deano," the archangel started as he heaped slices of pie onto his and the hunter's plates, "who is this Sully person you thought I'd teamed up? Sounds like an interesting character if your mind went straight to him at the sight of my masterpiece."

"How did you even hear that?" Sam jumped in before Dean could answer.

"Hello, have you met me? And I'm not asking you so hush."

Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands when he heard Dean chuckle, "Sully was Sammy's imaginary friend when he was little. Only we recently learned he's not so imaginary."

"Really? Color me intrigued. What was he?" Gabriel leaned back in his chair.

"A short round guy with rainbow suspenders and an offensively yellow shirt."

Mary put down her coffee, "You're telling me that some man hung around when you were children and neither you or John ever saw him? And he spent time with Sam?"

They could all see the possible scenarios she was sorting through plain on her face. Dean sat up a little realizing he'd freaked her out, but it was Sam who spoke. "It wasn't like that," he promised her before shooting a glare at his brother, "Sully's a Zanna."

The angels nodded in understanding, but Mary was not reassured. "And what are Zanna? I've never heard of them."

"They're harmless beings who protect kids. Think of them as supernatural caseworkers who step in to help human children. I've never heard of them revealing themselves to adults—even those who used to be under their protection." Gabriel studied the brothers like he'd been handed a puzzle piece and had no idea where it belonged in the big picture.

Sam shrugged and silently vowed revenge on his brother for ever uttering Sully's name. 'Supernatural caseworker' made it sound like their situation growing up had been so bad that even creatures felt the need to intercede on their behalf. "It was a special case. He came to us because someone was killing Zanna and he needed help."

"How long had it been since you'd seen him?" Gabriel asked conversationally, but Sam still felt like he was under a spotlight.

"I was nine," he swallowed, "I told him to leave because I didn't need him anymore. That I didn't know why I'd made him up in the first place. It..it was good to see him again even if it was a surprise to learn he wasn't imaginary."

"How old were you when he first appeared to you?" Castiel asked.

"Um, I'm not sure. Six, maybe?" Sam grabbed his coffee to warm his hands and give them something to hold.

Dean cleared his throat, "It was right after I started kindergarten, so you'd have been about three."

Sam's body jerked at his brother's words and coffee spilled over his hands. "What? No way was it that early!"

But Dean was nodding, "Yeah, dude. I remember it took me days to figure out this new word you kept saying. You dropped your L's all the time so it sounded like you were trying to say 'see.' Then you drew a picture of a yellow circle with colorful stripes and a head to show me."

"Did John know?" Mary asked, calmer than before but still obviously disturbed.

"Yeah, dad was pretty freaked at first. He called around and read a bunch of lore trying to figure out what it could be. But then Sam started talking to his 'Suh-ee' when we were there. There was no EMF, and none of our wards were disturbed, so we just figured he'd made an imaginary friend." Dean shuddered and looked at Sam, "You know, it is a bit creepy to realize that dude was there with us that whole time."

"It's not like I _knew_ he was real!" Sam exclaimed, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Sully had been a part of his life for six years.

"He sounds like a fun guy," Gabriel broke into the inevitable fight between brothers, "So why did you think he was partly responsible for all this?" He gestured toward the food.

Dean laughed and Sam saw Mary relax a little more at the easy display of humor. "Because when he showed up in the bunker a few months ago, he made a much smaller feast of Sam's favorite weirdo snacks. Like marshmallow nachos."

"Marshmallow nachos? Really, Sasquash? Are you hiding a secret sweet-tooth from me?" Gabriel grinned.

"They weren't my favorite snack," Sam muttered, "They were just something I wanted as a kid."

"Well, I'll keep that in mind for future meals," Gabriel said as he rose from the table. Everyone had finished eating, so he snapped and all the food and dirty dishes and candles disappeared.

"Hey! I wanted to save some of that for later." Dean stared mournfully around at all the empty surfaces.

"Relax, it's in the fridge. I improved it's size capacity and nothing will spoil inside," Gabriel waved off the outrage, "And I swear to my Dad, if you start again Sam, I will make you listen to a six hour lecture on how grace works."

Sam shut his mouth and swallowed the desire to argue. Instead, he looked down to figure out how to get to the floor. A snapping sound almost made him pitch forward, but instead of anything dramatic happening, a small ladder formed on the side of his chair. It looked similar to the kind built into bunk beds—the rungs ran along the legs like they were designed to be there. With a grateful nod to Gabriel, he climbed down on his own. Relief filled him at being able to do the simple task himself.

"Come on, squirt," Dean said as he stretched, "Let's get your new clothes to your room so you can change before you injure yourself trying to walk in those things."

"Dress warm, kids," Gabriel called to them, "It's chilly outside today."

"And?" Dean paused at the hallway entrance.

"And I have plans that involve us not staying in the bunker."

Dean shook his head and continued toward the war table that still held all their shopping bags, "Yeah, that's not ominous at all."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S POST 2K16 ELECTION NOTE:  
** Thanks for everyone's patience. This week has been devastatingly unreal. I almost wasn't able to get this written.

I hope everyone stays safe, and know that you are loved and precious.


	11. Breaking the Fast pt2

**BREAKING THE FAST  
** **PART 2**

Gabriel watched the boys leave the kitchen, Mary close on their heels. He let out a long sigh and sank back into his chair next to his brother. The younger angel was sipping coffee like it was wine, swirling each mouthful around to taste it completely before swallowing.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gabriel thought over the bits of information he'd gathered through the morning. He couldn't figure out if Sam was more scared of him or being left unprotected. The boy had been a skittish thing since he first saw him in the garage, swinging between anxiety and anger with brief reprieves of safety with Dean. Knowing his history with Lucifer had prepared Gabriel for the prospect of Sam not trusting another archangel, but the continuous argument against him 'wasting his grace' seemed contradictory.

Learning about the Zanna raised some red flags for Gabriel. Most of them were adorable creatures drawn to lonely children, but there were others higher up the chain who dealt with the more extreme cases. For Sully to have been with the kid for six years meant he was a long-term placement, and to have the authority to reveal their existence to two human adults showed how much authority Sam's Zanna friend held. The fact that he'd come to Sam when the boy's brother started school didn't escape him. How cared for had the toddler been without Dean around?

 _Brother?_ Castiel's voice broke into Gabriel's thoughts.

 _Yeah, Cassie._

Castiel's coffee cup clinked against the table as he set it down. _I did not think the Zanna stayed with children so long._

 _They usually don't._ He tried not to picture the baby alone in a dirty motel room long enough to draw the attention of the protector-race.

 _I've heard some have specialized abilities to deal with certain...repeated needs among the children they watch._ There was a pause and Gabriel braced himself when he saw his brother reach a similar realization about their charges. _I know the brothers struggled with having enough food at a young age, but I did not think it would have been so severe so early. To require intercession at the age of three...do you suppose that was Sully's specialty?_

 _You mean, do I suppose John Winchester failed to care for and feed his toddler because Dean wasn't there to do it for him?_ Gabriel asked with a raised brow.

Castiel slowly nodded. _I was reluctant to phrase it in such a way. I knew nothing of them until I pulled Dean's soul from Hell and reformed his body. They have always been warriors. I do not know how to imagine them as defenseless children. But now that Sam is so...small..._ his fingers traced the lip of his cup as he struggled for words. _I am not sure if it is his size or his grace that makes me feel like I must protect him. There is a need to keep him close, to stay connected. To think of him even younger, fully innocent, and unguarded..._

 _I'm right there with you, baby bro. Talk about wanting to time-hop to the past._ Gabriel sat up a bit and faced Castiel. _Hey, do you know why Sam is so hung up on my use of grace? He freaked out about me wasting it on making breakfast and the time traveling, worried that I won't have enough grace to fight. What am I missing here?_

Castiel winced. _There are many valid reasons. Sam witnessed several periods where my power was greatly diminished—including both my gradual fall from the host when I became cut off from Heaven, and the literal fall of all the angels when Metatron cast us from Heaven which burnt our wings and left us mostly human. When I had_ any _grace, I was forced to ration it. We have lost many friends and battles due to my weakened state over the years._

Gabriel felt sick. _Your wings burned?_

His brother looked away. _When we fell through the Earth's atmosphere. It killed some of us. Others couldn't find compatible vessels. Most had never set foot on Earth and had no idea what to make of human cultures._

 _Our Father, who art in a bar, I had no idea. When you said the Scribe took over Heaven, I never imagined..._

 _Yes, well, my wings and grace have been restored. God healed Lucifer when we were co-inhabiting my vessel._ Castiel shifted in his seat. _In fact, I think I may know what specific incident set off this particular 'hang-up.'_

 _By all means, share with the class._ Gabriel huffed an empty laugh, too upset over all the siblings he'd been too dead to save.

Instead of speaking, Castiel reached over with two fingers and lightly pressed them to the back of Gabriel's hand. Images instantly flooded his mind, layered with sounds and smells and emotion. The archangel had no problem sorting between the dual-perspectives of Castiel and Lucifer as they experienced the scene.

It was the same event Sam had flashed back to during breakfast—the moment Lucifer, wearing Castiel's face, showed himself to the youngest Winchester. Only now, Gabriel sensed everything through the grace of two angels instead of a limited human mind. He felt Lucifer's twisted glee at being able to finally do the big reveal and the rush of violating his true-vessel's soul. He felt Castiel's despair as he fought against the archangel's control, pushing through the agony of burnt grace to save his friend.

Mostly, he saw Sam as the adult he was right before being transformed. The man looked exhausted—gaunt cheeks framed by sharp bone, dirty hair, dark and desperate eyes. The weight of the world was heavy on his shoulders, and Gabriel could see the hunter breaking at the possibility of losing both Dean and Castiel. But all that was secondary to the dying shards of light flickering within Sam's chest. No wonder the kid was so powerful—his Father would have used a great deal of grace to heal so little soul.

Shuddering, Gabriel snapped up a tall mug of his special hot chocolate. For a minute, he sipped the sweet drink and shook off the echos of his older brother's hollow laugh. _I don't know what I'll do when I see him again,_ he growled to Castiel.

 _Who? Sam?_ Castiel jerked in surprise, anxiety clear in his expression.

 _No, Cassie. I meant Lucifer._ Gabriel frowned, wondering if Sam's constant fear of rejection was well founded if Castiel was expressing the same concern on the boy's behalf. _I don't even recognize him now. He's gotten worse since he killed me._

Castiel ducked his head back over his coffee. _To be fair, what I showed you was before he and God...talked._

 _Oh, to be a fly on_ that _wall!_ he smirked, but his brother didn't look up.

 _Father apologized to him._ Castiel's true-voice was barely a whisper.

Gabriel froze, speechless. Shock at the unbelievable words and relief at knowing they'd finally been said warred with the hot white anger that screamed "too little too late!" Why had it taken so much devastation and pain for Him to even return to His family? How much could have been avoided had He simply talked to them sooner?

His vision blurred as he stared at the hunched form of his little brother. The seraph was one of the most amazing creatures Gabriel had ever known. How he had survived everything was a miracle. And he suspected Castiel's miracle was intertwined with the Winchesters. The three were a wayward family of orphans who kept each other together—and knowing how volatile all three were, they probably did it even when they tore each other apart.

Using his foot against the angel's chair, Gabriel spun Castiel around to face him. Not giving his startled brother a chance to speak, the archangel leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. Held him just to remind himself that they had a second chance. That Gabriel had a second chance.

 _Gabriel?_ Castiel sounded unsure.

"You know, I'm glad Dad didn't let me go back to Heaven like I wanted," Gabriel laughed through his tears and tightened his grip.

"What?" Castiel's voice was rougher than usual.

"I was so ready to rush back home and jump straight into being the big brother again. I missed my family, especially you younger ones," he pulled back, bringing his hands up to rest on Castiel's shoulders, "When Dad first sent me to this abandoned building in nowhere-Kansas, I thought I was being punished. Or that this was a test because He didn't trust me with taking care of everyone so He would try me out with the little angel and his human friends," he laughed, "Boy, have I got a lot to learn. How useless would I be in Heaven when I know so little about what's happened since I left?"

Castiel gave him a rare smile, "I fear you will not learn much staying with us. We frequently rush into situations with faulty assumptions and a lack of information."

It made Gabriel's smile turn from forced to fond. "Yeah, that sounds like you guys. Well, I should say it definitely sounds like Dean, and I could see you following that lemming off the cliff. I'm guessing Sam is usually the one who ends up doing the research and jumping to the wrong conclusion."

Castiel tilted his head in thought, "It varies from case to case, but I would say that is an accurate assessment of our weaker tendencies."

"How did Metatron give you every pop-culture reference and piece of human literature, but you still talk like you learned English from legal documents?"

Blue eyes blinked in confusion as Gabriel chuckled and mussed the already messy hair. He stood, but instead of walking away, he dropped his hand from his brother's hair to his shoulder blades. Reaching with his grace, he felt along the strong wings. There was no sign of past damage, but his brother's grace was a mess. Like his hair.

"Castiel, when is the last time you saw the healers in Heaven?" It was a necessary task to keeping their grace cleansed and unfettered by the muck of the world. Many angels simply groomed each other in close-knit groups as a means of communal care. Some were not naturally drawn to those types of bonds, preferring solitary meditation. But in Heaven, even the lone wanderers would be connected enough for others to intervene.

Some of Gabriel's fondest memories of life prior to running away involved the frequent interventions his older brothers staged whenever he became too distracted to care for himself. Lucifer or Michael would usually be the one to catch him—exhausted from playing with their youngest siblings or wrung out from an obsession to right some wrong on Earth. They'd haul his ass to Raphael and he would sit through all their lectures while the Healer hummed the Father's song for creation and sorted through his grace.

Castiel's wings alone needed a lot of work. Gabriel ran his grace along the feathery edges and took note of all the places in disorder. He felt the muscles twitch under his hand as his brother squirmed away from the sensation.

Castiel turned and scowled when he saw Gabriel's grin. "The healers have not wasted their efforts on something as menial as wing-grooming in a very long time, brother. Not since so many wars decimated our numbers and left us short on healers. My grace is probably in a better condition than most in Heaven."

Gabriel winced as yet another new piece of information gave him a clearer picture of the Heaven's current state. "Well, I can't imagine Raphael will allow that to continue when he returns. It will be like mandatory spay day for years up there."

"That is...a comforting thought. Heaven needs a chance to heal and renew itself. Good leadership will go a long way in restoring hope and order."

"And while they're getting sorted out up there, I'm going to teach you everything I know about angel child care. Because if there's one thing I've learned about fledglings and Winchesters it's that they are a handful. And now that we have a two-for-one special it is gonna be all hands on deck."

Castiel frowned, but looked determined. "I have no experience with children—human or angel. As a soldier, I can protect him, but I do not know how good I will be as a caregiver."

"Well, that's a load of horseshit," Gabriel gave his brother's shoulder a shove, "I've seen you with the kid. You are a natural! Seriously, you should have been a guardian at the very least. A lot of it is instinct once I point a few things out to you. Besides," his tone turned serious and slightly pleading, "Sam trusts you. Learning control requires trust and, while I can intervene when his grace goes crazy, it may be awhile before he feels comfortable working with me alone. So I was thinking we'd do some group lessons."

"That sounds...very interesting," his frown smoothed as he considered Gabriel's plan, "It is wise to be wary of Sam's reaction. He's been amenable to your presence so far, but there is a deep seated fear of archangels and he tends to avoid any angel's grace. It was only at Dean's insistence that Sam even allows me to heal him most times. Now, his sensitivity is greater. Be careful you do not touch him with your grace without talking about it first. He can be...explosive."

"Yikes. I can imagine," Gabriel sucked in a breath, "Alright, no surprise grace-poking. Not a problem. I need the kid to relax, anyway. He's starting to make me nervous with this incessant worrying. That little angel brain is going to short-circuit if he doesn't calm it down soon."

"There has been very little opportunity for relaxation free of stress in recent years." Castiel pointed out.

"I'm starting to get that," Gabriel shook his head, wondering if he may have ended up with the larger task among the archangels. He ran his hand one last time through Castiel's wild hair and tugged on it gently, "Come on, Cassie. We got some stuff to set up for today outside."

With a snap, both angels vanished from the kitchen.

* * *

Mary sat on the edge of the bed in Sam's room. Piles of new clothes sat in a mound between her and where Dean perched on the other side of the bed. They had a system where Dean got rid of all the tags (including the kind sewn into items because they irritated Sam's skin the first time around) and Mary would fold them. Sam was supposed to be cleaning out the dresser drawers he could reach, but they were already mostly empty. Adult Sam had been too tall to bother storing things in the bottom drawers.

"What do you think he's planning?" Sam asked for the third time since they'd left the kitchen.

Dean shrugged and pulled another price tag off a pair of jeans.

"Dean..." Sam tried again.

"Sam..." Dean mimicked his brother's tone but threw a pair of socks at Sam's head to let him know he was joking.

Sam picked them up off the floor and set them in a drawer beside the other four pairs he'd had thrown at him so far. "I just...you don't think it's something elaborate, do you? Like, Trickster-elaborate?" Another pair of socks beamed him in the face and he added them to the pile.

"I promise that I have no idea what Gabriel's planning. I'm working off the same amount of information as you are, dude." Dean answered as he tossed a whole package of underwear to his brother. Sam managed to catch these and he put them away with the same level of seriousness as the socks.

"I know you guys mentioned having a history with Gabriel. I take it he hasn't just cooked you two breakfast feasts in the past?" Mary asked. So far, the archangel was like nothing she'd imagined, but she definitely knew that there was tension between her sons and the powerful being.

"That's one way of putting it," Sam muttered.

Dean laughed, but it was edged with anger, "Oh yeah, nothing like trapping us in time-loops and alternative universes to teach us a lesson."

"Castiel mentioned the part about lessons, but not what Gabriel wanted you to learn," she folded a sweater and watched the boys' very different reactions to the conversation. "Just tried to reassure me that he never tried to kill you, which honestly didn't set the bar very high in expectation."

Mary saw Dean's hands nervously pick over a small sweater, his attention hyper-focused on the object. Sam, though...she heard him make a choked sound and turned in time to see his eyes glaze as he stared unseeing at the wall. "Sam?" she gently called, not wanting her son to get stuck in another memory. She wondered if he had always struggled with flash backs, or if it was a recent development tied to his angel abilities.

Dean looked up at her tone and saw his brother. Grabbing another pair of socks, he said, "Heads up, Sammy," and tossed them. Sam didn't catch them, but the perfect strike was enough to jolt him from his daze. He frowned at the offending item before placing it in the drawer. Dean cleared his throat, and glanced over at Mary without turning, "It's complicated. Our past with Gabriel...it's complicated. He's an asshole and he did a lot of stupid, awful things in those 'lessons.' None of it was permanent except the memories. But he did come through for us in the end—after we bitched him out for not standing up to his family," he forced a smile while he kept watch of Sam, "And he made a hell of a breakfast. So, who knows? Maybe Chuck talked some sense into him."

Sam gave a dry laugh that sounded far too cynical coming from such a young voice, "You realize you're practically Heaven's therapist at this point, right? You saw right through Gabriel's act and knew he was an angel just by how he talked about his brothers. And you changed his mind enough that he helped us. You facilitated a whole conversation between God and Lucifer that allowed for an alliance. And to top it all off, you convinced Amara not to destroy the universe and reunited her with Chuck."

"Think I should send them a bill?" Dean smirked, clearly latching on to Sam's teasing with relief.

Sam stood up, "Nah, I don't think Heaven cares enough about currency to pay," he adjusted the pajamas he still wore so he could walk to Mary's side. He carefully gathered the pile of folded clothes, and said a quiet thank you before returning to put them away.

They finished the rest pretty quickly. All the clothes fit into three drawers now that his new shirts folded down to the size of his old socks. Sam picked out an outfit and assured her and Dean that he was fully capable of dressing himself, then proceeded to push them both from the room. His door closed with a soft 'click' and Mary worried he'd have trouble opening it again.

"Are you sure he's about six physically? I feel like he's too small for six. Some of his clothes were meant for toddlers, and I swear he's smaller than you were a week ago," she whispered to him as they walked back toward the war table to retrieve her own bags of clothes.

Dean scoffed, "I'm telling you, it's all about the hair. I'd know Sam's age at any point in time based on his hair alone, and those curls narrow it down to a six month period. But you're right—Sam was small for his age. It wasn't until he hit his teens that he caught up to his age group. By the time he was sixteen I think he mutated because he blew right past me in height. He stayed scrawny until Stanford and he's been putting on bulk since then. I'll have to find you some photos—he was given the nickname 'moose' for a reason."

Mary shook her head in disbelief. She still struggled to see _her_ Dean in the man before her. It was getting easier, but there were moments where he slipped away and she'd panic a little at the sudden stranger. Sam was an even harder adjustment. She saw none of the infant in the child's face. To imagine him as a man larger than Dean was a stretch too far for her. "Photo's would help. Everything helps at this point. I feel like I'll never get caught up on what I've missed."

"Are you..." he coughed and scratched the back of his neck—so like John, "are you doing okay? I know this has to be awful for you. To lose your little kids and husband. To suddenly find yourself with two mostly grown sons who are hunters at the center of every apocalypse that decides to start. That's gotta be hard."

She shook her head again, but this time it was an attempt to stave off the crushing grief that bloomed in her chest. Tears blinded her, so she jumped when she felt strong arms wrap her into an embrace. For a minute, she let herself cry quietly and acknowledge that she would never see her baby and little boy again.

"Don't worry, Mom. It'll be okay. We'll look after you."

Mary heard her little boy speaking to her, and just like that breathing became easier. It didn't change what she'd lost, but she remembered dying. Remembered the despair of not knowing if her family would survive the fire, let alone the demon. Remembered wishing there was something she could do to keep everyone safe. Saw her blood drip onto her baby's face...

That memory made this second chance real. It allowed her to recognize how much she had gained by having the opportunity to return to her children's lives. She smiled at her son's words, wondering if he recalled saying something similar to her as a little boy. "That's still my job."

Dean grunted and tightened his hold, "Well, how about we just look after each other and call it a draw."

"Sounds good. Sounds like something families do."

* * *

Castiel was confused. "Why are we putting food in a basket to carry outside when we have a kitchen and table right here?"

"Because this is a picnic basket. Made for picnics. A meal traditionally eaten outside over a blanket on the ground. In sunlight and fresh air." Gabriel rambled as he continued transferring food from the enhanced refrigerator to the never-ending space inside a custom-made basket, "It's a thing humans do to relax with other people. There were whole cultures and traditions surrounding the art of the picnic," he laughed, "The pagans were, of course, my favorite. Live music and rampant nudity. And this whole wooded area is wasted on these boys. I doubt they've spent any time at all outside of this bunker except to get from the door to the car or vice versa."

"Sam usually goes for runs in the mornings. He says the air tastes better at dawn and he likes the quiet." Castiel didn't understand how air could taste better at different times, but he identified with the need for peaceful silence.

"Does he?" Gabriel sounded surprised, "Well maybe this won't be such a culture shock for the kid after all. I'm sure Mary will be fine. I think picnics are part of maternal instincts—unless it's a learned behavior for any parent cooped up with a small child in an enclosed space too long. You and Dean are the two who will probably stand around like a couple of space aliens trying to figure out why we're roasting white puffy sacrifices on sticks over the fire."

Castiel stared at his brother in mild horror at the casual mention that picnics involve sacrifice. "Gabriel, none of the Winchesters will participate in burning sacrifices no matter how relaxing the experience." He could only watch Gabriel laid his head on his arms against the counter and laughed uncontrollably.

"Cas, did you break the archangel?" Dean's voice cut through the echoing cackle.

"This was not my idea, Dean," Castiel turned to his friend, suddenly worried that he'd misplaced his trust in Gabriel, "I did not know what a picnic involved!"

Dean stared at him in bewilderment, "What the hell are you talking about, Cas?"

"Don't worry, I will not allow him to perform any sacrifices."

"Whoa! Okay, Gabriel, what the hell is he talking about?" Dean stalked over to the shorter being and pulled him up by the jacket collar.

It took several tries before the archangel could speak, "Y-you know, Dean! The little white puffy round things you pierce with a stick and roast over a fire, usually while sitting in a circle at night."

Dean did his best impersonation of Sam's bitch-face. "You mean marshmallows?" he smacked Gabriel upside the head, "Quit scaring Cas! He'll never try new things if you freak him out too much." He went over to a pantry shelf and grabbed a bag that had one side rolled down and sealed with a clip. Tossing it to the confused angel, Dean explained, "Here. These are marshmallows. You put them on a stick, and when you cook them in fire they melt and puff up."

Castiel studied the bag. It weighed almost nothing, and the round white things were soft when he squeezed them. He ignored Gabriel's renewed laughter by keeping his attention on Dean. "You use them to make nachos?"

"Ha! Not unless you're my weirdo brother," Dean clapped him on the shoulder and strolled to the coffee pot to get a fresh cup.

"I'm not a weirdo," Sam said from the doorway in a soft brown sweater and a knit cap that pushed his curls down to frame his face. Mary stepped around him to join Dean by the coffee. "What is going on in here? Gabriel sounds like a dying hyena. You can hear him throughout the bunker."

"Nothing," Dean answered him with a smirk, "Gabe just convinced Cas that roasting marshmallows was a sacrifice performed at picnics. Cas tried to save our honor."

Castiel watched Sam's expression waver between pity and humor, and the sight of the boy fighting to not laugh at him made the angel appreciate the joke a little more. "What honor?" Sam asked.

"I didn't even get to the other ingredients used in the ritual!" Gabriel chimed back in, "You know, the dark substance first utilized by the Aztecs that liquefies when placed between the sacrifice and a the delicate baked square."

Sam rolled his eyes, "That is the least appetizing description on how to make s'mores I've ever heard."

"Yeah, but his face..." Gabriel wiped away tears, "It was worth it."

"So, what's the plan for today?" Mary asked, leaning against the counter and blowing on her coffee.

"Well, I need to start working with Sam on his grace-control. It will be easier to do outside, so I figured we'd all make a day of it and enjoy the sunshine before winter." Gabriel took the half-filled bag from Castiel and placed it in the basket.

The angels had discussed how to approach the lessons, and agreed that an open space with Sam's other family members present would be the best environment. While the others sorted clothing, they spent time setting up the space outside the bunker with lounge chairs, hammocks, an over-sized picnic table, and a stone-lined fire pit. Gabriel wanted to add a whole indoor heated pool onto the side of the bunker, but Castiel had insisted his brother discuss it with the Winchesters first.

As Gabriel finalized the food packing, Castiel kept an eye on Sam. The boy looked nervous at the prospect of lessons, but not panicked. Hazel eyes met his, and he saw the brave mask cover the anxiety, "Should I get a notebook or anything?"

Castiel glanced at Gabriel for the answer. "No, no notebooks. This will be all practice and no studying," the archangel told them as he hoisted the basket and turned to them, "Everyone ready? Good, let's go."

* * *

Sam followed the others out of the bunker and around to the back part away where they couldn't be seen from the road. It was a familiar route that he usually took on his morning runs. He kicked through the leaves as he walked and wondered how long it would be before he'd be able to go running again.

So far, he hadn't had a chance to really explore this new body's limits. He knew his strength was completely gone, but he wasn't sure about his endurance. Young kids were known for their abundance of energy. Maybe his stamina would make up for the lack of muscle until he got this body trained.

He was pulled from his musings when everyone stopped in front of him. Unable to see around the wall of legs, Sam moved to the side and stared at the new additions. The sky blue cushions of the lounge chairs reflected brightly in the sun, and it took him a second to see everything else. The fire pit was perfect and something he'd always secretly wanted.

Gabriel broke off from the group and set the large basket on the wooden picnic table. With a snap, a pile of brightly colored items appeared beside it. Squinting, Sam could make out sports gear and frisbees and Nerf guns.

Dean gave a low whistle, "Dude, someone has watched way too many kids' movies on Netflix." They never had these types of things growing up. Occasionally, they'd find a stray tennis ball or frisbee left behind in a park or motel playground and they'd pack it with them until it got lost or broken.

"It's not like I snapped up a toy store, Deano. This is a normal amount of stuff most families have on hand for get-togethers." Gabriel gave him a knowing look that told Sam the archangel was probably aware the brothers had grown up playing with guns and knives more than toys. He watched Gabriel grab up an orange frisbee and spun it toward them, "Go long, Cassie!"

The younger angel stood still and passively watched the disc soar past. He turned and looked at Sam in confusion, "What was I supposed to do with it?"

"Catch it," Sam said smiling as he went to retrieve it. The toy was heavy in his hand, and it took some adjusting to get a proper hold on it. Turning, he tried to throw it back but it curved mid-air and landed in the fire pit. "Oops," he winced, glad there was no fire.

"That's why we can't have nice things, Sam," Dean said in a low voice as he picked through the gear. He chose a fuzzy yellow tennis ball and tossed it underhand to Sam. "Try this one."

Sam caught it easily. It fit in his hands much better and the lighter weight made it easier to throw when he lugged it back to his brother. Not expecting it, the ball smacked Dean in the side of the head and bounced back onto the table. Dean jumped and tried to swat away the unexpected attack and Sam hooted with laughter, "That's payback for all the socks you pelted me with this morning, jerk!"

He only had a second to revel, however, as Dean turned with a look of revenge on his face. Sam gulped and backed away. His brother grinned wickedly at the reaction, "Well, I guess you've got one thing in common with payback."

"Uh huh?" Sam hummed warily.

"You're both bitches," Dean said. And then it was on.

Sam sprinted past Gabriel and rounded the fire pit. He saw Dean racing after him with a Nerf gun in hand. He glanced toward the trees and saw one with lower hanging branches. Knowing his brother would make him suffer some form of humiliation if he caught him, Sam grabbed hold of the closest branch and jumped.

The world shifted around him, and he had to blink a couple times to realize he was seeing a wide expanse of sky and tree tops. Gasping, he clung to the trunk and glanced down to the ground far below. A rustle of wings sounded next to him and he managed to turn his head enough to see Gabriel perched on a branch next to him. "What'cha doing up here, Sammy? Not that the view isn't fantastic, but I'm pretty sure you just gave everyone a heart attack." The archangel had his wings fully extended and his arms already wrapped tightly around Sam's middle.

Sam felt his body start to shake with delayed adrenaline and he shook his head, "I d-don't know," his spoke through chattering teeth.

Gabriel smiled, "I forgot how easy it was for you little guys to accidentally fling yourselves into hard-to-reach places. Let's get you back on the ground, okay?" His arms tightened and Sam felt his feet suddenly touch solid ground.

"What the hell, Sam!" Dean ran up, breathless with anxiety.

"I don't know," he repeated as his mother and Castiel rushed over as well.

"Nothing to worry about, folks," Gabriel reassured them, and Sam was grateful for the hands that kept him steady, "It's perfectly normal—kids slip past the baby gate all the time."

"Yeah, except he didn't fall down some stairs. He flew up a tree!" Dean exclaimed, "Do we need to put a kid harness on him or something? What if he fell from five stories up?"

"You are _not_ putting a leash on me!" Sam yelled, and Gabriel's hands squeezed his shoulder.

"Relax, kiddo, you don't need anything so dramatic. It's why we're going to teach you control—so this kind of thing doesn't happen. Or happens less often, anyway," he explained calmly. Sam felt the shaking increase, and there was a flare of heat that prickled along his skin. "Okay, I was going to have you run around and work off some of that energy, but I don't think it'll help now that you're so wound up. Come on, let's settle down."

Gabriel steered Sam toward the fire pit. Thick knit blankets and pillows sat in a neatly folded stack on the ground. With a snap, they were spread out in a comfortable pile. Sam felt himself be maneuvered into the center and pushed to sit on a pillow. Gabriel plopped down next to him and waved Castiel over to join them. The angel shed his trench coat, folding it carefully to place on the blanket, and sat cross-legged on a third pillow.

"Is he okay?" Mary asked quietly, unsure what the angels were preparing to do.

"Oh, yeah," Gabriel grinned as he stretched his arms and grace, cracking knuckles in the process, "Sammy boy is just a bit more super-powered than I'd anticipated. His grace is already over-charged again since I drained it last night. So we are going to do some maintenance—the angelic equivalent to hair brushing, really. There are beers and snacks in the basket if you guys want anything."

Dean studied them for a second, evaluating the risks of leaving them for the beer calling his name. "We'll stick close by in case you need us during your hair braiding, or whatever..." he said directly to his brother, "And stay on the damn ground!"

Sam nodded as the shakes tapered off leaving him tired. He watched Dean walk away with a worried looking Mary. They each got a beer and made their way to the lounge chairs, talking too low for Sam to make out words. The heat ran under his skin like sandpaper and static, and he wrapped his arms around his chest in an attempt to keep it from spreading. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel shift to face him.

" **You are alright, Samuel. Take some deep breaths and relax everything. I am going to explain how angels help each other maintain their grace, and then we will show you. Think of a self-generating pool. Sometimes the flow gets jammed up or the pH falls out of balance and it needs adjusting. And in your case, the generator is a little enthusiastic and flooding everything out. Now,** " Gabriel held up his hands, palms facing out toward Sam, " **I am the metaphoric pool boy with a net who can also balance the chemical levels and siphon off the over-flow. Would you like me to show you how on Castiel?** "

The modern-day concepts described in the ancient tongue of angels took a second to translate in Sam's brain. He looked to his friend sitting in front of him. The angel was staring at Gabriel, completely fascinated by his words, and seemed startled to find their attention shift his way. Castiel nodded his willingness to Sam and held his arm out to Gabriel.

The archangel ran two fingers above Castiel's wrist to his shoulder without touching the skin or fabric. Soft gold light flowed in his fingers' wake and danced across the limb. Castiel gave a small gasp and Sam saw the tension melt from the arm. It started to fall but Gabriel caught his wrist with a laugh, " **Oh, Castiel, imagine how mellowed out Heaven will be when everyone is forced to take a spa day.** "

Castiel grinned, a little dopey. " **In fairness, the healers I saw were not archangels. You may have gone overboard with your 'chemical adjustments.'** " He did the finger-quotes with the hand not being supported by his brother.

Gabriel frowned at the arm he held, " **No, this is where you should be. I think you have been unconsciously keeping your levels low because you learned to function with them there. I only did one sweep on one arm, you light weight.** " Castiel giggled and Gabriel covered the seraph's mouth while glancing over toward Mary and Dean. "Cassie, you should not be buzzed out on grace!" he whispered, "You are being a terrible role model for a fledgling who's never been groomed."

Castiel nodded somberly and Sam felt his muscles loosen at the angels' playful interaction. Gabriel removed his hands and turned back to Sam. " **Alright, let me look at you,** " his whiskey eyes flared gold, " **Your grace is overflowing because it expects to be in constant use. Like if your body was breathing but instead of using the oxygen it just kept storing it. Now, do you trust me to help you?** "

Fear flared at the thought of an archangel touching him with grace. The wings were one thing—they manifested as a physical extension he could touch like a moving stream. Draining his grace the night before had been different too. Sam had lost control, burning from the inside. He'd expected Gabriel to plunge his hand through his chest like all the others, but instead had drawn the fire out like poison from a wound. But to willingly submit to such an invasion?

" **Samuel,** " Castiel's voice was sober and soothing, " **what Gabriel said is an accurate description for the mechanics of grace work, but not the experience. The sensation is not that of a net dragging through water, but of a brush gliding through hair. The hair itself is not punctured—merely sorted into place. It is similar to** reiki **energy work. It tingles in a pleasant way, and you may feel a tugging if there is a tangle or blockage in the flow.** "

The heat was building again, and Castiel's words sounded so tempting. Sam stared at both angels, hoping any deception would show now before he caved. There was only honest sincerity reflected in pools of blue and gold. " **I ask, you stop?** "

They nodded in tandem, and Gabriel answered, " **I will absolutely stop. I will not let you hurt yourself or others if you start to go nuclear, but if you are still capable of talking then I will listen. In fact, I will talk to you the whole time so you know what I am doing and so I know you are alright.** "

" **You try, first?** " Sam held his arm up like Castiel.

"Sure, kiddo," Gabriel smiled in gratitude that grew when his brother reached out and placed his palm under Sam's out-stretched hand, ready to offer support and connection. "Okay. Just this arm, and I'll be super light." He held two fingers out over the small wrist

Gold shimmered along Sam's arm, and he instinctively jerked back. Castiel and Gabriel's hands followed his movements but never tried to stop him. He paused when the fire building under his skin was doused by the glow of Gabriel's grace. The relief was enough to make him push his arm back toward the archangel and allow him to continue. The fingers slowly moved along his arm and stopped at his shoulder.

Castiel was right—it did tingle in a nice way, and left behind a warmth that was comforting instead of consuming. His arm felt weightless and it dipped to rest in Castiel's hand. The glow dissipated almost immediately, but the sensation remained. Gabriel was watching him with an expression somewhere between eager and anxious when Sam looked up.

" **Again?** " Gabriel asked and Sam nodded. The brush of grace was repeated on the other arm and his eyes grew heavy. Castiel's hold on his wrists was the only thing keeping him upright until Gabriel put an arm around his back. "Let's get some pillows behind you and you can just lean back. There we go, that's better, right?" Sam felt himself sink into a plush bedding and he stared with half-closed eyes at the sky. Colors twinkled in the clouds as sunlight refracted through water and he was lost in the details. He heard a voice talking to him but didn't look away from the clouds. "Sam, you still with us? I need you to answer me before I keep going."

" **Here** ," he whispered a little breathlessly. His focus was intense, and the lack of discomfort made him feel a little paranoid.

"Okay, I'm gonna dial it back more, but we're not done yet. Are you good?" Gabriel asked.

" **Keep going, but slow,** " Sam managed with a little more voice. He heard the angels shift around and when Gabriel spoke again, he was directly above his head.

" **I am going to place my fingers on your temples so you know where I am. Castiel is still sitting by your feet. I will direct my grace from here and you tell me if I need to stop.** " Fingertips rested on his head and Sam tried not to flinch. Gabriel must have felt the muscles tense because he stilled his movements without breaking the connection. " **It's just me, Samuel, and I promise not to touch your mind. You focus on the sky and I am going to brush my grace from your head to your toes. It should feel like the sun cascading over you...** "

Sam let the words drift over him as he floated on a sea of safety and contentment. This was almost identical to how it had been with Chuck, minus the life-threatening gunshot wound and crushing despair at losing Dean. Now, he could revel in the peace. The tingling in his arms spread through his whole body and he wondered if this is how animals felt being petted. Sam felt his own grace respond to Gabriel's gentle sweeps, reaching for the gold light from within. The archangel chuckled lightly as he continued his ministrations and steady stream of words.

After spending a few days confined and condensed in his new tiny body, Sam was unprepared for the sudden expansion of consciousness. Something inside shifted into place and he merged with his grace. It was like becoming consciously linked with your blood, and then realizing your blood was connected to the universe, and now you feel the universe like it's your own leg. The angels could describe themselves as multi-dimensional beings of celestial intent the size of skyscrapers all day, but the words had been meaningless.

Now, Sam felt larger in a way that went far beyond the physical parameters. He was burrowing below the soil with rodents and worms, in the sky with the clouds of color, in the next town over, in churches and streams and mountains. He stared around, images flickering in layers on top of each other like his vision was constantly changing filters. Only those filters allowed him to see into windows through time, and places, and dimensions.

Sam gasped when he saw Gabriel. The being hovering massively over him made him feel small again.

It truly was like laying at the feet of someone larger than the Statue of Liberty. His eyes traced the way the archangel's true-form folded into his vessel before returning to the faces. So many faces kept shifting—human, animal, and some for which Sam had no name. It would have been terrifying if not for the pure joy and instinctive recognition he felt at the sight of each one.

Laughter rumbled down over Sam's body, the noise like the resonating vibration of tribal drums. " **Castiel, look. His eyes are open! He sees me! Hello, little one. Welcome to the world,** " Gabriel spoke but there was very little of his vessel's voice in the sound. The fingers on Sam's temples moved to pull his hat off and run through his hair. It pulled Sam's awareness back to his body, grounding him, but it didn't diminish his senses.

Slowly, Sam tried to sit up. His limbs wouldn't cooperate and he huffed out a frustrated sigh. The hands on his hair slid down behind his shoulders and lifted him to sitting. He expected to be dizzy from the change in position, but once he was upright his body immediately adjusted. There was no fear of falling back again, but he felt one hand stay against his back.

Castiel filled his vision and he saw the angel lean forward, a being of grace as blue and varied as the ocean. " **Hello, Samuel,** " his voice like rolling thunder that Sam felt in his chest, " **How are you doing? Can you distinguish what you are seeing? Do you recognize us?** "

"Good grief, Cassie. Give the boy a second before you quiz him!" Gabriel admonished.

But Sam was already nodding, " **Yes. Know you Castiel,** " he hesitantly raised a hand toward his friend, but stopped when he lost track of Castiel's vessel and only saw his true-form. Not wanting to accidentally grope the angel in an inappropriate place, he just kept his hand out waiting for the vessel to come back into focus.

Blue-black feathers landed in his hand and Sam laughed at how familiar they felt even with his new senses. They still embodied warm summer rain but now he could see the grace that formed the wings. There was no shyness in Sam's movements as he ran his fingers through the feathers. He saw a few out that seemed out of place, so he turned them the right way and smoothed them down.

" **Oh, look at you grooming Castiel without even being taught! See, that's all I'm doing. Just going over the areas that need some adjustments.** " Gabriel's fingers traced patterns on Sam's back and the tingling shot up his spine, giving him a chill that shuddered through him. The hand flattened against the knit sweater and soothed the charged feeling away. " **Yeah, that was a big one. Sorry if it pulled. I tried to go slow.** "

" **Is fine. No worries,** " Sam said with a smile over his shoulder.

" **'No worries.' That is exactly what I wanted to hear.** " Soft laughter followed his words like a small reverberation of his previous drums. " **Alright, Samuel. I think that is enough for now. We will need to do this every day to train and maintain your grace as you grow. But right now, your brother is walking toward us and he looks concerned.** "

" **We look not sober,** " Sam offered as his eyesight mostly returned to normal human levels and he realized Dean had probably seen him pawing at the air in front of Castiel's face. The rest of his senses slowly lost their extreme sensitivity, but there was still an echo along those new connections. Castiel and Gabriel now held a shimmer of their respective graces' colors.

Footsteps approaching made Sam turn and see Dean. The concern was obvious on his face, but so was the amusement to anyone who knew how to read the hunter. "So, not to be judgmental," Dean said as he came to a stop at the edge of the blanket and stared down at them, "but Mom and I were wondering if you all dropped acid. Because for over an hour, you three have sat here giggling and chasing lights or something. And for a 'hair-brushing' session, I gotta say Sam's hair is a disaster."

" **An hour?!** " Sam exclaimed looking to Castiel for confirmation. The angel nodded and reached out to try and straighten Sam's curls where they went in disarray.

Gabriel stood and clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Why acid when I put mushrooms in a third of the dishes at breakfast!?"

Dean scowled and turned to Sam, "Is that why you're always eating veggies? Because they're drugs?"

"Mushrooms aren't vegetables," Sam and Castiel said in unison.

"Thanks, wonder twins. It's so reassuring to hear you call out the vegetable mix-up and ignore the fact that you're all acting high as kites."

"Sam did get stuck in a tree," Castiel added, "Kites do that too, don't..."

"Not helping, Cas!" Sam reached up and tugged on the wing still in front of him. Castiel nearly toppled over from the unexpected pull and he caught himself with his hands.

"What are you two even doing?" Dean asked, then shook his head and put up a hand to stop anyone from answering, "No, never mind. Today is the day I just don't want to know. I'm getting another beer. Try to act like you're _not_ tripping balls by the time mom sees you up close. Okay? Okay, good talk."

Sam watched his brother walk away until his hat was shoved over his head and cut off his sight. "He's right," Gabriel's voice was slightly muffled by the fabric, "We really did mess up your hair."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
** "Minor Edits" turned into 3-4 extra pages...oops?  
Thanks for all the lovely comments and encouraging words.  
May we all be kind and loving with each other...

Don't forget that comments are SOUL food for this author!


	12. Breaking the Fast pt3

**BREAKING THE FAST  
** **PART 3**

Fire crackled a few feet away—a pleasant heat that sank into his bones. A full moon dominated the clear night sky and cast the forest in a soft glow. On the cusp of winter, the trees echoed with insects serenading the final days of autumn before the cold and silence. His eyes tracked the fire's sparks and ash as they spiraled upward into the stars.

Dean sat back in their new lounge chair with a shaky gasp. "Oh..." he whispered, fighting the urge to either cry or laugh, "Gabriel, I hate to break it to you, but this is not the human equivalent of getting your hair brushed. The only things humans can do to feel like this on Earth are probably illegal...and dangerous."

"Well, I can only replicate some of the physical side effects. You just don't have the neural pathways and I don't want to melt your brain." Gabriel's answer was a shock-wave of sound cascading around Dean.

"Whoa, dude!" he jumped as it reverberated across his skin, "Inside voice! Turn it down to, like, a one." He heard a chuckle in a distant earthquake.

"On a scale of what?" This time, the voice rumbled like an explosion muffled within a mountain. Dean supposed that was a whisper to the archangel.

"On a scale of one to 'Oh my God, I'm being vibrated to death between two mattresses with magic fingers set to overdrive!'"

"That is a very specific scale," Gabriel cackled in his usual voice as he withdrew his fingers from Dean's forehead.

"Yeah, well it's a very specific volume," he muttered, shaking his head to clear the ringing. The world shifted around the hunter until his senses resumed functioning at their normal levels. His muscles remained relaxed and nerve endings all tingled in a good way. Shaking his head, Dean gazed at the others around the fire.

Mary was watching with wide, sparkling eyes and an easy smile. He grinned back. It had taken awhile to overcome the revelations from the night before and that morning, but several hours in the sun with a few beers and lots of laughter had finally eased some of the grief. Even if it was only a temporary reprieve.

Castiel sat cross-legged on the blanket next to Sam who was sprawled on his stomach across a pillow, faces both turned toward the fire. The angel was tracing designs with his finger onto the kid's back. Periodically, he'd pause and Sam would say something unintelligible. Dean was pretty sure it was all Enochian, but he hadn't asked.

Since that moment in the hallway when he first heard Sam shrieking the strange language at Castiel, Dean knew to be on high alert whenever the kid's speech changed. He understood "little brother" well enough that he didn't need the words to make sense of what was being expressed. Fear seemed to be the primary reason for Sam to switch languages the past couple days. Fear and uncertainty—he heard it in his brother's tone when he'd start whispering to Castiel. And the angel would rumble back reassuringly in a voice softer than Dean had thought possible.

But there was no fear or uncertainty in Sam's voice as he lazily mumbled responses to whatever the angel drew with his fingers. Castiel would either shake his head and rattle off a stream of foreign words, or he would nod and repeat one certain string of syllables that Dean was starting to memorize.

He glanced at what he'd dubbed the "Mary Poppins" basket several paces away and gestured for Gabriel to follow him. They strolled away from the fire, and Dean tried to not show how much his legs felt like jelly. Damn, but grace was awesome! Digging out two beers, he handed one to the archangel and said in a low voice, "Care to tell me what our brothers are doing?"

Gabriel smiled fondly as he looked over at the two and answered in an even quieter tone, "Cassie's made a game of drawing the Enochian alphabet on Sam's back while Sam tries to guess each one."

Nodding, Dean took a swig of his drink, "It's nice to hear him this calm while he...'talks angel.' Better than him screaming it in terror or whispering it like he thinks he's in trouble. Hell, I didn't know he _could_ speak Enochian until a few days ago."

The shorter being sighed and hoisted himself up onto the picnic table. "I doubt he could access enough of his memories from the cage to make sense of it before getting grace. Now, the centuries he spent surviving Lucifer are as clear as the measly few decades of life top-side, so he's reverting to using it on instinct. Grace gives us near-perfect recall, and Luci was a shit teacher—he used 'lessons' as an excuse to torment. He kept Sam's vocabulary limited, then punished him for saying the wrong word or using English."

Dean felt his stomach drop. He remembered hearing Castiel tell Sam something about how no one would punish the kid, but there was too much happening to ask about it at the time. "He what?"

Gabriel faced him with a grim look on his face, "That's what Cas described seeing in one of Sam's dreams," the whiskey-gold eyes drifted toward the fire and softened at the sight of Castiel practically cooing his pride at something Sam said. "This exercise was actually Cassie's idea after seeing how well Sam responded to the grooming."

Dean would have spewed a mouthful of beer if it wasn't for the years he'd spent drinking around Castiel and his wacky one-liners. "I'm sorry, did you say 'grooming?'"

"What?!" Gabriel with a shrug, "That's what it is. It's the closest translation."

"Oh, he is not living this down..." Dean muttered.

"Anyway," Gabriel cut him off, "he really wants Sam to feel safe speaking it. We figured he needs a little positive reinforcement and better memories associated with Enochian to really break down that trigger."

"Couldn't he just stick with English?" Dean asked.

"Old, Middle, Early Modern, or Modern?" Gabriel shot back.

"What?" Dean finished his beer and grabbed another from the never-ending basket. He had the feeling he was going to need it.

"Do you have any idea how quickly languages change on this planet?"

"Uh, no?"

"The answer is 'pretty damn fast,' bucko. English is a little bastard of a language that took fifteen hundred years to form by absorbing whatever it wanted from other nations. And it took about a decade for you people to abandon writing for emojis."

"Your point?" Dean pushed before the ancient nerd could get too worked up.

"My point is Sam can't 'stick with English' because he will outlive the language. Once he's mastered his grace in a few centuries, he will be fluent in all forms of language from every era on Earth. But Enochian came first, and it has never changed. He shouldn't only use it when he's scared. Besides," Gabriel gave a half-grin, "Sam needs to get used to hearing and speaking it. When he grows strong enough to connect his mind with 'angel radio,' he's going to be bombarded with thousands of voices'...and there's no English option. It will be part of every interaction he has with the angels. And he _will_ meet them all."

Dean grimaced at the idea of Sammy forced to mingle with the angels who had hunted the hunters. "But not soon, right? I mean, do we even know how they'll react to him? It's not like we've been best friends with them over the years. The few that were kinda cool like Cas either died or turned on us. Sam's got trust issues with angels—we both do."

"Don't I know it," Gabriel said as he drained his beer.

The hunter scowled and turned away to study the tiny figure by the fire, "I'm just saying, we've survived too much for me to just let him go off and get smote by some pissed off cupid. I don't want him meeting any other angels until he can defend himself." As an adult, Sam had been plenty capable of using his enormous size to intimidate enemies or hostile witnesses, but Dean knew his brother. He knew Sam was a bad-ass because of the underlying desperation and self-doubt. The kid was a born worrier and it always brought out his darker, more aggressive side.

When Sam felt helpless after Dean's death, it was Ruby's promise of power and control that drove his decisions. And after the cage and apocalypses and countless cycles of death/resurrection, Sam's lack of 'good enough' pushed him past the point of exhaustion on a good day. Bad days led to his brother doing stupid shit like walking back into the cage to beg Satan for help.

Now, the kid seemed as fragile as a damn baby bird—all bones and tufts of fluff and unbelievably breakable. Dean couldn't imagine Sammy facing the entire host without even the illusion of strength he'd held as a gigantic Sasquatch. What he _could_ picture was how those little arms had clung to him in the garage, and again in the woods, during Gabriel's dramatic entrance.

Turning back to the archangel, Dean was startled to find those golden eyes already watching him.

"I promise Sam will not set foot in Heaven until I can ensure his safety. We will vet each angel he meets beforehand. I may even be able to work out a way for you to come with us on visits to the old homestead. But right now, Sam isn't ready for Heaven," he sighed and looked away, "and neither am I."

Looking at their newest resident, Dean tried to think of what he would do if their situations were reversed. If he'd found himself stranded in Heaven, separated from family and responsibilities, he didn't think he'd be cooking breakfast for the angels. And he definitely wouldn't be going above and beyond in helping them figure out their own shit.

 _I didn't even help Cas when he became human. I left him homeless and starving on the street until he was killed by a reaper. My little brother becomes part-angel, and Gabriel appoints himself as personal guardian._ Guilt ate away at the contentment he'd built through the day as his mind began listing other times he had failed Castiel.

"Holy angst-bomb, Batman," Gabriel's voice cut through the deluge and he stumbled back a step when he was shot in the forehead by a Nerf dart, "I swear, you Winchesters are the moodiest sons-of-bitches this world has ever seen. Stop it!" The words were punctuated by a second dart to the chest. "I can feel you from here, and so help me Dad, I will drag your ass into our grooming sessions until you lighten up if you don't quit."

Dean blinked in surprise. "I just..." his mind blanked on words for a second as he stared at the toy gun toting archangel and cleared his throat, "Thanks. For stuff...with Sam. And breakfast."

Gabriel looked mildly suspicious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but gave a brief nod when Dean's gaze held steady. The Nerf gun lowered. "No problem, Deano."

"It's only 'no problem' because you made it no problem," Dean huffed with a strained smile and sat next to Gabriel on top of the table, "You could have come in here and done anything, demanded anything. Put us all in a world of your making until we gave in. Taken Sam and left us with an illusion. Hell, you could have shown up disguised as anyone or anything and stayed hidden among us forever. But you didn't. Instead, you agreed to our terms, answered our questions, jumped in when Sam needed help. You even carried in our groceries, dude."

"That's because you wouldn't put down the angel blade to help and I didn't want Mary to carry everything herself. Time loops are one thing, but I'm not a barbarian!" Gabriel acted offended, but it was easy to see genuine fluster at the hunter's words.

Dean chuckled and drained his beer, "Such a mamma's boy..."

* * *

It had been eons since Castiel last felt this level of contentment. After only a day around his lost brother and the new fledgling, he had regained the long-forgotten connection that gets forged between grace-beings. That, combined with the thorough grooming session Gabriel had insisted on giving him after Sam was done, meant that Castiel's entire being positively buzzed with energy.

Grace flowed freely through his true-self and he reveled at remembering who he was outside his vessel. Using his fingertips, he wrote simple words infused with a hint of power across his young friend's back. **Peace.** That he rest without worry. **Hope.** That he learns to dream again. **Love.** That he knows he is cherished. **Joy.** That he laughs daily. **Safe.** That he feels secure. **Love.** That he accepts himself.

Each word was Castiel's personal prayer for Samuel in his new life.

The boy had fallen asleep while his mother hummed an unknown tune beside them. Castiel was pleased with how well Sam had taken to his "alphabet game." There had been no fear or discomfort during the exercise—only the childlike wonder Sam always displayed when learning something new. It was easy to picture him as a young human meticulously devouring any available knowledge. Asking Dean to teach him the older boy's advanced homework when his own was too simple to feed his intellect. The angel smiled and traced a new word. **Grow.** That he flourishes in his new life and second childhood.

The humming tapered off, leaving the fire's crackling blaze to settle over them like a whisper. Castiel could hear his brother talking with Dean, but he kept them muffled out of respect. If he reached his grace out far enough, he would be able to make out the humans in town several miles away. Not that he wanted to do such a thing, but it was once again a possibility. His hands smoothed over the soft sweater, wiping the metaphoric slate clean for whatever word came next.

Castiel was starting to see that the restoration of his grace went far beyond the 'physical' effects. And while his abilities returning to their pre-apocalypse state was a reason to celebrate, it was his renewed sense of purpose and self that excited him. It wasn't just that he remembered _how_ to be an angel—he remembered _why_ he was an angel. What it meant to act from a place of love instead of duty. How it felt.

 **Love.** That he feels God's love emanating from within their shared grace. **Love.** That he experiences the Heaven Castiel knows is possible. **Love.** That Heaven is reminded of how to be a family again when they meet their newest member. **Love.**

"What's that one mean?" Mary's whisper cut through Castiel's thoughts and his head snapped toward her, startled at the sound without really hearing her words.

"I'm sorry?"

She gestured to where his fingers remained suspended and forgotten over her sleeping son's back. "You keep repeating that one particular pattern," Mary leaned forward and her blonde hair shifted and shimmered in the firelight. Reaching forward, she recreated the symbols in the dirt as she'd seen Castiel draw them.

Castiel smiled automatically at the sight. The shapes were a little off and one of the symbols was inverted, but he felt warmth bubble up from within at the sacred word written in the most ancient of tongues by the clumsy fingers of a human. "You are very observant, Mary Winchester. I was..." heat bloomed across his face—not from shame, but the fluster of trying to explain his new-found feelings of affection. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Oh, he is _out_!" Dean gave a low whistle as he crouched down next to his brother, "He's drooling all over the place. I haven't seen him do that in years."

There was a sharp inhale from the archangel who had moved to stand behind Castiel. Tilting his head all the way back, he saw Gabriel gazing at the word written on the ground. The golden eyes shifted down to meet his, and he saw confusion there. "Did Sammy write that?"

"No, I did," Mary answered quickly as she sat up a little, "Was I wrong? Is that something humans shouldn't do? I just wanted to know what it meant."

"You? I...What?" Gabriel's bewilderment grew and it was clear to everyone that he had not expected her to answer. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just...how do you even know this word? Or was Cassie here teaching you? Maybe we _should_ do Enochian classes for everyone..."

"Oh," she looked relieved to not have committed some unknown angel taboo, "No, he wasn't teaching me. I was watching him... He was just..." she kept trailing off, unsure what she should say, and turned toward Castiel in hopes that he would finish his explanation.

He sighed. "I was writing words of prayer anointed with my grace. My prayers for Sam in his new life—things like safety and peace and happiness." The heat was growing again on his neck and face. Was the fire getting warmer?

"Which was this one?" Mary asked, pointing at her drawing.

Gabriel knelt between Castiel and Mary. Reaching his hand across the ground, a golden light flowed down to ignite the traced lines. With a wave, the lines shifted to form the correct symbols. "It is our word for 'love.'"

Mary's eyes shined bright, "You...you wrote it more than once."

"There is more than one kind of love. It has many forms and ways and expressions. I guess I wanted to make sure there was no room for doubt." Castiel kept his tone calm, but he was certain Gabriel could feel the longing under the surface.

The seraph knew he had always committed himself to causes and tasks with a single-minded intensity that unnerved even some angels. That same drive was still present, but for once it was not guided by desperation. How long had he been recklessly rushing to fulfill some missing need, always questioning and seeking the answers to an unknown question? And now he had both the answer _and_ the question.

Heaven was broken—not just as a system, but as a family. Each passing moment seemed to confirm that the memories of his youth were not an illusion of some previous lifetime. The bond between the archangel, seraph, and fledgling, and the way the humans fit seamlessly into their circle, was a clearest representation for they way things _should_ be between Heaven and Earth. Not that they had perfect relationships, but there was a symbiosis occurring based on mutual affection. They all cared for each other in both feeling and deed.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped itself around Castiel's head. He heard his older brother's voice speak in his mind. _And I wish for the rest of our siblings to have the same revelation._ The arm unwound and a hand scratched through his hair, digging fantastically into his scalp for a moment.

Castiel turned and saw Dean giving him a familiar look—the same one he'd receive whenever he surprised the hunter by doing or saying something unexpected. It was a combination of shock, pride, humor...and jealousy that Dean hadn't been the one to cause the change in behavior. The first time Castiel saw this particular look was when he drank an entire liquor store.

"You're not even close to this dopey when you get drunk. This is more like that weird alternate future Zachariah sent me to where other-me was leading the resistance against zombies and Lucifer. And other-you was always stoned and planning orgies." Dean leaned forward to stare searchingly into Castiel's eyes. "Or when you lost your mind and rambled about bees while trying to convince us to play Twister. It's kind of a toss up between those two...because you seem a little stoned _and_ crazy."

Gabriel just barked a laugh and clapped his brother on the back. He moved off his knees and plopped onto a pillow dramatically. "You think Cassie is fun? Wait until the rest of our siblings start getting this as a regular treatment. Can you imagine how differently the apocalypse would have played out if all the angels were too busy adoring each other and cherishing their human charges to plot the world's end?"

"Oh yeah," Dean rolled his eyes, "Uriel seemed like he was just one massage and margarita away from being a great big teddy bear."

The archangel groaned, "I think Dad made that one when He was grumpy. Probably right after breaking up another fight between the oldest two. Even Luci used to joke about Uriel's negativity—called him the 'funniest angel in the garrison'because the kid was a raging storm cloud as a baby."

Castiel was about to comment about how he had not known that statement to be in jest when he felt muscles shift under his palm still resting on the boy's back. The louder voices seemed to rouse Sam slowly from sleep. He rubbed circles over the building tension, hoping to ease Sam into consciousness without it being a jarring transition.

Dean immediately noticed the change in his brother, and sat himself between Sam and the fire. Castiel thought it was an odd choice of place for the hunter to put himself—too close to the heat for comfort and too close to Sam to be outside the required distance of 'personal space.' But then Dean hunched over, blocking the flames completely, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. "Come on, dude. You're gonna sleep through the s'more making ritual and marshmallow sacrifice."

Sam's body stretched and rolled up onto his side enough that his face was toward his brother's voice. Hazel eyes blinked slowly before quickly locking onto Dean. "Wha...?"

"You fell asleep during our picnic, party pooper. So get up before I feel obligated to stick a spoon in your mouth and take a picture." Dean tousled Sam's hair a couple rough times, then stood up. He'd turned toward the picnic table with the basket, but before he could take a step there was a 'snap' and the basket appeared beside Gabriel. "Fireside service! We may let you stick around after all, Gabe," Dean joked and joined the archangel next to Mary.

Castiel watched them on his periphery but kept his focus mainly on Sam. Without the older hunter there, the firelight flooded their little blanket area. The boy leaned back against Castiel and realization hit the angel. With a life defined by moments of fire, it was probably a bad thing for Sam to see upon first waking. Of course, Dean would not need the extra ninety seconds of analysis to reach the same conclusion when Sam was the cornerstone of his instincts.

He ran his fingers through the back of the boy's curly brown hair and gently scratched the neck and scalp. This need for physical interaction with Sam (and by extension, the others) was still new and surprising. Gabriel had assured him that it was built-in as part of their angel programming—a drive to nurture each fledgling generation. The archangel joked that their Father must have used him as the prototype since he'd been obsessed with the younger angels compared to the older three.

Sam tensed for a heartbeat, then relaxed when he remembered who was behind him. "Sorry I fell asleep while you were talking."

"There is no need to apologize," Castiel said reassuringly. It saddened him that Sam was always so quick to take on guilt. "Do you wish to make these 'sa-mores' Dean keeps mentioning? I believe Gabriel brought the necessary ingredients and tools out here."

"Nah," Sam said with a slight shake of his head—not enough to dislodge Castiel's hand, the angel noted. "They're too sweet for me. I'll probably snag some graham crackers though."

"Too sweet!? Too...do mine ears deceive me, or are you denying the awesome deliciousness of sugar, Samsquatch?" Gabriel appeared next to them on the blanket with a whisper of wings. He looked like Sam had just declared his hatred of baby otters.

"Don't you think you should get better nicknames for me?" Sam scowled, "I'm not sure your old ones fit me anymore."

"Oh no," Gabriel waved off the idea, "I've seen adult human-you, so I know what you're capable of genetically. And while I have no idea what your grace-form will look like because there's never been an angel made from a human soul, I do know that you will at least be equal in size to us archangels. You'll have to be with so much power!"

"Really?" Sam asked, looking at his hands as though trying to imagine it.

"It's like looking at a puppy's feet to estimate how big it will be fully grown. Believe me, you won't stay mini-sized forever. But you should still eat something, just to stay on the safe side and not stunt your growth."

"No thanks, Gabriel, I really don't..."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and stretched his foot out to nudge Dean. When he had the hunter's attention, he sat up and made grabby-hands toward the basket. "Dude, can I even lift this thing? It must have half the kitchen inside it."

"Just the red bowl. And the graham crackers." Gabriel kept his arm out until Dean passed him the requested items. He then placed the sealed bowl and crackers on the blanket next to Sam.

The boy studied them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion before deciding to investigate. There was a struggle with removing the lid, but Castiel secretly loosened the plastic's grip with his grace and the thing popped off. Inside was a mixture of the fruits from breakfast, all looking as fresh and perfect as when they'd first been cut.

Sam beamed, "Oh, thanks Gabe! This is perfect." He grabbed a piece of melon and held it in his mouth for a second. Castiel wondered if the boy tasted things differently now. After he finished his bite, Sam raised the bowl to offer, "Thanks to you too, Cas. You should try some. Every single one has a totally different flavor and texture."

Castiel reached into the bowl and took out a raspberry. The blend of tart and sweet tastes was sharp on his tongue. The seeds were very small and made for an interesting experience chewing. "I did not assist with the fruit preparation for breakfast. But thank you for sharing. That one was...much stronger than I anticipated. It made my eyes burn a little, but I liked it."

Sam shot him a look over his shoulder and grinned. "No—thanks for getting the lid off. And yeah, berries tend to be that way. If you want subtle, you should try the melon. Or kiwi! That one's softer in flavor but really good."

Castiel stared at him. "You felt me help with the lid?"

"Well, yeah. It made the whole bowl light up and kinda vibrate. Why? Were you trying to be sneaky?"

"No! I was..." he broke off with a small smile because Sam was right—he was trying to be sneaky, "I was just trying to help without you noticing."

Sam turned so he was facing the two angels and gave him a look that meant 'you just said something stupid, but I'm patient.' "That's kinda what 'sneaky' means, Cas."

"You are correct," he nodded, "but my reaction was to you registering my use of grace, not at being caught using it."

"He means that it was impressive for you to catch what he did—even though he was a total clutz and we _will_ be working on that. No brother of mine will be that clumsy in stealth. You need some prank-training, bro." Gabriel bounced a marshmallow off Castiel's cheek and it landed in the fruit bowl.

"Why is it impressive?" Sam asked, picking the offending puff of sugar out of his fruit and threw it over his shoulder into the fire.

"Because you are a wee babe with no training. And most angels really wouldn't have seen that. He used almost no power, but you saw _and_ felt it. Which means you are super sensitive." The archangel explained it while assembling a monstrosity of stacked graham crackers and chocolate bars. The metal stick he was wedging marshmallows onto had three prongs and held six at a time.

Castiel decided to stick with the fruit. "Have there been other times you've sensed us use our grace when it wasn't discussed beforehand?"

Sam frowned in concentration, "Umm, I guess so. I feel it pretty regularly. It's strongest whenever one of you flies in or out of the room. And Gabriel's snaps are like whips being cracked right next to me. But there's smaller things too. When you heat the blankets it's like you've run them straight from a dryer and they're crawling with static. Or when you heal us, everything glows blue and feels like water. It's always a mild temp—never extreme. Or when..." his voice broke and his eyes glazed for a second until he blinked and he dropped his gaze away from the others, "someone was explosively angry and locked himself in my room. That was intense. It took days before I could get warm again."

"Sam," Castiel glanced in alarm at a confused Gabriel, then leaned forward to better see the boy's face. It was turned downward as Sam picked through the bowl. He repeated himself until hazel eyes looked up, "Sam, that was before you had grace."

"So?" The whisper was almost silent, but the angels easily heard the uncertain answer.

"So, how long have you been able to see and feel the grace of angels?" he asked gently, not wanting to spook the suddenly tense boy.

Sam shrugged. "It started when Death returned my soul from the cage. Well, I guess it started _in_ the cage, but that was different."

"How was it different?" Gabriel asked in a soft voice. He'd set his food-creation aside and was concentrating on Sam. Castiel could hear Mary telling Dean a story involving her hunting a poltergeist in a puppet workshop. The hunter laughed and Castiel let them fade into the background, satisfied that they would not interrupt and cause Sam to shut down.

"Umm," the boy shifted in obvious discomfort, but the angels both knew he needed to talk about it, "well, grace formed my entire reality in the cage. It shaped my perception, even gave me a body when my soul got left behind. I was enveloped in it for, like, two centuries. It wasn't hard to sense grace because _everything_ was grace. But topside is different. Maybe it was because I existed inside it for so long, but almost every time an angel used it I would feel or see something. Not always at first, but it got stronger through the years. Especially after Gadreel."

Castiel felt the archangel's shock. _No, Gabriel. Do not ask right now._ He shot a stern look to his older brother, grateful Sam couldn't see it.

 _But what...!?_ Gabriel's eyes had widened and glowed with flaring specks of gold.

Castiel gave a sharp shake of his head. _Later. If you ask, he will run. It was worse than you think._

Gabriel's nostrils flared briefly, but the gold light dimmed to normal levels as the archangel regained control. _That was NOT reassuring._

 _It was not meant to be._ Castiel ended their silent communication before Sam could grow suspicious. He reached out and pried the boy's white-knuckled fingers from the fruit bowl. Setting the food aside, he loosely held the small hand between his two palms. "That makes sense. I was unaware of your sensitivity as a human. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Sam shook his head which looked more like a full-body shudder, and then looked up with a strained smile. "It's cool, Cas. _You_ never really did. Others, though..." he shrugged again, stalled on words.

Gabriel sat forward and held out a hand to Sam. Castiel felt the tiny fingers twitch against his own palm like they wanted to pull away. He didn't tighten his hold, but the boy didn't retreat. Instead, he hesitantly gave his other hand to Gabriel who took it and mirrored Castiel. "The very word 'grace' means the freely given favor of our Father—mercy and salvation and blessings. It was never meant to be used as a tool for punishment."

Sweat began to build on the hand Castiel held and he felt the fingers twitch again. "It's not your fault, Gabriel. I mean, you did some dickish things for sure, but I get it now. You saw how destructive the path was that Dean and I were going down. We would sacrifice anything and everything for the other, no matter who got caught in the crossfire. It took us years to learn what you were trying to teach us back then. And I don't think the other angels ever really saw me as anything but an abomination. Probably even more so after I returned from the cage."

"We were wrong," Castiel cut in before Gabriel could respond, his voice rumbling with heavy conviction, "Heaven was wrong. Not just in our perceptions and judgment, but fundamentally. We lost our way long before you were born. Before they even started manipulating bloodlines to create you. You were never an abomination, Sam."

The boy took a shuddering breath and blinked rapidly. He glanced up through curly bangs, eyes darting between the two angels. Self-doubt seeped through their growing bond and Castiel pushed back with a wave of affection and acceptance. Surprised hazel eyes fixed on him, and a smile tugged on the corner of Sam's mouth.

"Thanks, Cas," he mumbled, blushing as he shyly gave in to a full dimple-making grin.

 _You may want to dial it back a bit there, little bro. I think even the humans felt that._ Gabriel's true-voice rang through his head.

 _Good._ Castiel shot back, fondly exasperated with absurd Winchester self-worth issues. _They need to know it too._

 _Definitely missed your calling as a guardian or nurturer._

"You guys aren't gonna bust out singing 'Kumbaya' or anything, are you?" Dean's gruff voice broke through their silent discussion. Both he and Mary were staring them.

Sam yanked his hands out of the angels' grasps and grabbed the fruit bowl. "No, we're not going to sing, Dean." Castiel had to admit that the 'bitchface' shot toward the hunter was quite impressive.

"Whatever, dude!" Dean held his hands up in surrender and laughed at them. "You're the ones sitting in a circle holding hands. Excuse me for being curious!"

"Admit it. You're just jealous because no one was holding your hand, Deano." Gabriel sighed as though imparting some great knowledge and hoisted his marshmallow trident into the fire.

"Do you want me to hold your hand, Dean?" Castiel asked seriously, slightly worried his friend would feel left out or jealous over the attention he gave to Sam.

"Damn it, Cas! That's not...No!" Dean flailed in his fluster and hunched over the stick he was furiously shoving marshmallows onto.

Laughter rang out through the woods, momentarily silencing the nearby insects. Castiel was still contemplating the intricacies of human hand holding when the nightly chorus resumed.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
My mind has been jumping around way too much and didn't want to settle down enough to write this chapter.  
Shout out to Echodoki for lighting a fire under me-I wrote 7/11 pages in the last 24 hours!  
There is power in all your comments! ;)

Now, you should probably strap your seatbelts on, because things are gonna pick up in the next part of this series...  
*insert evil laugh*

Also...

 **BONUS MATERIAL: Gabriel's lecture on the history of the English language**

"Old English, formed between the 5th and 6th centuries. You wouldn't know a single word—spoken or written. The whole language shifted from the 8th to the 15th centuries as nations invaded each other and words were shared. You might scrape by in the Early Modern English era—that was Shakespeare's language in the 16th century. Modern English, as in the language you would mostly recognize today, didn't start until a century _later_. Where do you think English will be in another five hundred years?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Wow, dude, really? You give me a fake grace-buzz, then kill it with a lecture on the history of the English language?"


	13. The Valley of the Shadow pt 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
Enochian is in bold.**  
 _Thoughts/angel-radio/telepathy is in italics._

* * *

 **THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW  
PART ONE: SHEPARD**

The dawn broke pale through the trees. Fog rolled across the forest floor like a living entity too solid for the weak winter light to dispel. The world slept in silence a moment longer.

A man stood beside a large SUV, dressed in a black suit and unaffected by the temperature. He used binoculars that cut through the fog and dark to stare into the woods. The familiar cement bunker came into focus and the man made a mark in his notepad. He knew the occupants of this building. Knew their names. Knew their routine.

And today was the day.

* * *

A scream rang out through the bunker. Gabriel instantly abandoned the notes he was making in his cookbook and appeared in Sam's room next to the boy flailing on the bed. The small figure had blankets wrapped around his entire torso from restless sleeping and now he resembled a mummy. It would have been amusing if it weren't for the heaving sobs and frantic battle against bedding.

"Shh, Sam, it's okay. You're safe," Gabriel tried to soothe as he carefully began to untangle the madness.

This whole thing was breaking his heart. Sam had only allowed himself to sleep in the shared bedroom for two more nights before insisting on returning to his own room. That was a week ago. After one quiet night, the next six had all ended the same way—with Sam screaming himself awake. It seemed as though the boy's grace, in the process of sorting the centuries of memories, was fueling night terrors with constant new material. And each one was like a badly healed bone being re-broken.

 _I just wish he wouldn't keep us at a distance,_ he thought. Since returning to his bedroom, Sam had demanded they leave him alone at night and refused the angels' offers to watch over his increasingly troubled sleep. He had agreed to their intervention when the nightmares reached screaming-level, but only because he feared his grace surging and hurting others. Gabriel knew part of building trust included listening and adhering to boundaries, and there was a natural order to healing the mind that just had to happen with time. But that didn't mean he had to be alone.

Gabriel finally got the blanket to fall away from the face streaked with tears and sweat. He resisted the urge to snap everything into order, but they learned the hard way not to use grace until Sam was awake enough to talk to them. He and Castiel still had a few feathers that carried small static shocks—a leftover from the fledgling's electric storm when Gabriel had instinctively reached with his grace to connect and reassure. After that, they stuck with methods limited to the five human senses.

"Get out! Get out! Out! Out! OUT!" the boy shouted in English, which made Gabriel pause. So far, Sam had always woken up speaking Enochian, sometimes sticking with the angel's language for several hours before switching back to his native tongue.

Castiel flew in on the other side of Sam's bed already reaching to help with the blankets. "What do you need?" he asked what was becoming their routine.

"Not sure yet." Gabriel shook his head and continued their conversation silently. _He's using English, so it's either an early cage memory, or it's from his life up here._

Opening his senses as much as possible, he tried to catch any stray clues pouring out of the distraught kid. He saw random images of the bunker's library. An Asian boy with burnt out eyes. A terror different from Lucifer.

Hazel eyes snapped open, pupils blown and still focused on his dreams' echos. Sam ripped one arm free and grabbed Gabriel's wrist, sinking tiny sharp nails into his vessel's flesh. "Get OUT! Now!"

"Sam? Sam, it's okay. You are in your bedroom in the bunker. Dean and your mom are down the hallway. There's nothing happening right now. You just need to wake up, Sam." Gabriel coaxed as he ran fingers lightly up and down the arm digging into him.

The boy laughed and it gave the angels chills at the empty sound. "You _wish_ I thought nothing was happening. You think you can just keep me here, ignorant and content in your illusion, while you ride me," he spit out the words though a clenched jaw, his eyes focused somewhere over Gabriel's shoulder, "Get. Out. Now. You murdering piece of shit."

"Cas?" Gabriel breathed without taking his eyes off the furious ball of rage. _Little help?_

Castiel didn't answer him, but instead sat on the bed facing Sam. He brought his hands to rest on his lap when he spoke, " **Samuel, look at me. He is not here. You are in your bedroom, not inside your mind. I promise, Gadreel is dead. Remember?** " Gabriel started at the angel's name—no one had been eager to share that story with him yet.

Disbelief shone clear on the fledgling's face. Sam tightened his hold on Gabriel even as the archangel continued trying to calm him with the rhythmic brushing against skin trembling with adrenaline. "I said get out!" Fear broke into his voice and his brow furled in confusion as he muttered to himself, "I don't...I don't understand. It should work. I've cast you out—you have to leave!"

Castiel leaned forward, radiating earnestness, " **It is not working because we are not in your mind. Gabriel and I are real, and we are all awake with you in your bedroom. You had a bad dream, Samuel.** "

"A...what?" Sam's eyes darted from Castiel's face to Gabriel and finally focused when he really _saw_ the golden grace glowing within earthy-brown orbs. Enormous eyes traced where the light flowed back to manifest the wings rising to frame floppy brown hair. The archangel was daily grateful for his brother discovering the boy's fascination with their wings—they were one of the most powerful tools in dealing with Sam in this state.

Today was no different. The trembling stilled in the automatic rush of delight and awe brought on by the sight of the glowing feathers. It provided the necessary jolt to Sam's brain that allowed his most recent memories to rise up and surface. Nails scratched against Gabriel's wrist as the boy tried to release his grip and pull his arm away. Gabriel wrapped his free hand around Sam's and helped pry the unresponsive fingers out of the grooves they were digging. He rubbed the small palm with his thumb to relax the muscles further. Looking up, he caught the guilt pooled in the Sam's eyes as the boy saw the indentations.

" **It is fine. You did not hurt me. See**?" The skin was returning to its normal state, leaving only red marks that were already fading. Sam's concern remained, but now that the relief of returning to the present was wearing off he began to shake again from the inevitable emotional fallout.

"Everything okay here?" Dean stood at the doorway, wrapped in his robe and looking exhausted. A week of interrupted sleep and no hunting meant naps were starting to become a more frequent event in the bunker. Today was definitely shaping up to be a nap-day.

Gabriel was about to respond when Castiel's hard voice answered first, "We do not need assistance. Go to the kitchen."

Dean took a step back at the tone, and Gabriel stared between the two. He had never heard the angel speak to the hunter with such cold dismissal. Sure, they argued like an old married couple, but this was different—it had both Castiel and Sam on high-alert at the hunter's appearance.

"Cas?" Dean asked hesitantly without coming any closer. His gaze moved to Gabriel, but the archangel shrugged, just as lost. He had absolutely no context for this particular moment.

Static sparked up Gabriel's arm from where he still held Sam's hand. "Whoa there, kiddo. What's going on?"

" _Go,_ Dean." Castiel's order didn't allow for disobedience. Dean frowned but turned to stalk toward the kitchen. They heard Mary's voice from down the hall and Dean's muffled response. Once the two humans had faded through the bunker, the seraph turned back to Sam. The boy yanked his hand free of Gabriel and started tearing angrily at the blankets still trapping the rest of his body.

" **Peace, Samuel. We will help you. Just relax.** " The switch back to Enochian settled the frantic movements long enough for them to unwrap the bedding. The second he was free, Sam scrambled off the bed and stood between the door and them with his arms wrapped around himself. " **I know you are angry and upset, and are justified. However, you must try to calm down or Gabriel will have to help, and I do not believe you want that right now.** "

Sam shook his head violently and shuffled a step away. Electricity ran through him, glowing white-violet as it arced along his skin. His eyes lit like a thunderstorm.

" **Can you speak, little one?** " Gabriel asked calmly as he stood. Sam never let them get away with calling him such pet names when he was in his right mind—but in moments of pure instinct and distress, the boy usually responded well to them. He shook out his wings to serve as a visual reminder of the archangel's capabilities and a grounding presence for Sam to focus on. It didn't hurt that it also made him more ready to act if the child lost control.

For a moment, he feared Sam wouldn't reply and he'd be forced to drain the building grace again. They'd only had to do that once since leaving the shared bedroom. The first night of nightmares had trapped Sam in a cage flashback, shocking anyone who came near until Gabriel had stepped in. After feeling the archangel's grace against his own, Sam didn't speak English again until the following evening. He really wanted to avoid repeating that experience. Especially when their daily grooming sessions were a much more effective and enjoyable way to maintain grace.

Finally, Sam gave a short nod and took a breath. Some of the sparks settled down. " **I talk.** " Power spilled into his voice—an impressive feat for such a young and inexperienced

Gabriel smiled reassuringly. " **Good. We are going to go outside a little early today, and practice how to channel all that energy out safely, okay?** " He had promised not to forcibly intervene if the boy could still speak, and he would keep it. " **Do you want me to fly us, or should we walk?** "

Sam looked toward the door and shook his head. They all knew there was no route from his room to the exit that didn't take them past the kitchen. " **Fly,** " he said, resigned.

The archangel walked to Sam and held out a hand. He would rather pick the shivering child up, but knew the affection wouldn't be accepted yet. Castiel stood and grabbed one of the boy's hoodies that hung off the desk chair. Once they stood together, Gabriel flew them to their nightly-used fire pit.

The morning air, damp and cold, layered frost across the litter in leaves on the ground. The film of ice glistened in the muted sunlight. Grabbing a blanket from the pile they kept beside the ring of rocks, Gabriel shook it out. Grace flooded through the fabric, cleansing and heating each fiber. He laid it out and brought a fire to full blaze in the pit with the flick of his wrist.

Turning, he saw Castiel tugging the hoodie over Sam's head. As soon as the boy was dressed to the seraph's content, they both settled onto heat-infused pillows. Steam filled the air where the two temperatures met.

Gabriel stepped back. " **I will be right back. I need to grab something.** " They nodded and he was off. It took a few minutes of searching through a dust-filled forgotten house before he found what he sought. As soon as his hand grasped it, he returned to the fireside.

Sam sat hugging his knees to himself, face buried in the material of his sleep pants. Castiel was silently running his fingers through the mess of curls to keep the fledgling calm. He looked up when Gabriel arrived and gave a small nod.

 _So, what do I need to know to maybe not trigger him further?_ Gabriel asked silently as he sat down carefully next to the two on the blanket.

Castiel studied the boy for a minute, then turned his gaze back to Gabriel. " **I asked Samuel who he wanted to have tell you the story, and he decided to tell it himself.** "

"Oh!" Gabriel was surprised. Getting Sam to volunteer information was never easy. Of course, just keeping Sam verbal was enough of a challenge. To have both occur directly after a nightmare or flashback was an act of Chuck Almighty. It was a show of trust the archangel wasn't expecting. " **Thank you. I will be honored to listen. But first we must get you balanced before you flood out. Come on, pill-bug, unroll it.** "

Between the two of them, the angels were able to draw Sam out of the ball he was curled into. When they were all situated comfortably, Gabriel held up the object he'd retrieved. It was a clear polished quartz with lines of pure gold suspended in bursts throughout the center. The surface was covered in minuscule symbols that appeared burned on.

Pressing it into Sam's palm, Gabriel explained, " **This is a focal stone. I made it when I first left Heaven. It allowed me to intentionally drain my grace enough to not be tracked by any of my more ambitious siblings. I used it daily until I found a better long-term solution.** "

He watched as small fingers wrap themselves around the glittering smooth stone and a look of understanding settled on the too-young face. Sam opened his mouth a few times before actual sound came out, " **It pulls.** " The boy started to hand the stone to Castiel, but paused and looked to Gabriel with the clear question on his face.

Gabriel nodded his permission and sent Castiel a smirk. _Do you think the would ever do that to Dean? Because I am not above ensuring that situation comes about..._

" **This is very warm.** " Castiel studied the sigils with a squint. _It will probably happen without you needing to do any set-up after this morning._

Gabriel grimaced at the reminder of his and Sam's future conversation. Clearly, it was _at least_ as bad as he imagined. Probably much worse, knowing the Winchesters. Out loud, he continued his explanation, " **I know, awesome, right? I used it so many times I think it is trained to tug on any grace it touches. Also, I seared strengthening sigils onto it, make that gem virtually indestructible. It's built to withstand a massive influx of power for long periods of time.** " Gabriel smiled, a little bitter, " **I had anger issues in the beginning and no where to direct my energies. Anyway, it is like a pocket grace-compactor. You do not get back what you put in, but it does condense into pretty, pretty colors.** "

" **What do I do?** " Sam asked as Castiel returned the stone.

" **You know how, when we groom, we follow the natural paths of energy flow until we find a blockage? Well, you are going to push your own grace along those paths, gathering up all that excess energy that is building just under your skin. Push it down through your arms and the stone's draw will guide it right out.** " He gave Sam an encouraging nod when the boy looked at Gabriel with uncertainty.

It took almost an hour to get Sam's eyes to stop glowing and for the static storm to quit rolling across his skin. Gabriel was fascinated by Sam's grace—energy in the form of lightning was a rare manifestation among the angels. And none were as powerful as this young one. Thankfully, Sam was an exceptional student and picked up on everything rather quickly. They were able to avert a disaster without drastic action. He'd take it as a win.

With a heavy sigh, the boy rested his head against a pillow and curled onto his side away from Gabriel. The shift in mood was sudden and he looked to Castiel for any insight. His brother gazed sadly at the dejected figure. Stretching on his stomach across the blanket, Castiel lowered himself down so he was face-to-face with Sam. The seraph had taken to being on the boy's level as often as possible.

" **Are you well, Samuel?** " Castiel asked in a whisper.

Gabriel saw the boy nod his head, "It's okay, Cas. You go ahead. I know you want to talk to him. Just don't...don't smite him." The humor was edged with honesty. Castiel's lack of smile turned Gabriel's grace.

"I do not believe I am the one you must convince to not harm your brother. Gabriel is who you should worry about." Castiel said in seriousness.

"Hey!" Gabriel interjected with just a drop of offense. "I have a little more self-control than that, thank you." They ignored him.

Sam put his palm against Castiel's forehead and pushed. "Go on, Cas." The angel flew off without bothering to sit or stand first. The silence was instantly heavy and he watched the boy curl in tighter.

"Are you sure you're okay with this, Sam?" Gabriel asked when several minutes ticked by without change. He couldn't see anything but the back of a lumpy hood pulled over tangled hair.

A startled sniffle made Gabriel want to scoop him up. Instead, Sam pushed himself to sitting and failed to discreetly wipe his face before facing the archangel. "Yeah, sorry. It's been a while since these memories were this clear. Some are kinda...new."

"Oh," Gabriel said with understanding. The poor thing was constantly finding buried pieces of his past, mostly from the time his body and soul spent separated. "Take your time. I'm sure those two will stare disapprovingly for twenty minutes or so before someone speaks. There's no rush."

Sam huffed a laugh, "No kidding." He took a deep, shaky breath, "Cas told you about the trials he and Metatron did to close Heaven. Well, while all that was going down, I almost completed the trials...to close the gates of hell."

Gabriel gasped in horror, unable to even form a reply. Apparently, he didn't need words for Sam to understand.

"I know, I should be dead. I was at the very end of the third trial—curing Crowley of being a demon. Then, Dean busted in and stopped me, but the damage was done. He got me to the car just as the angels fell. I saw them burn in the sky right before I fell into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't make it, so Dean..." he swallowed hard, and his breath shook, "Dean put out a prayer to all angels, asking for help. One showed up and said the only way he could save me was if he possessed me as a vessel and fixed the damage from the inside. Dean gave consent. And helped trick me into saying 'yes.'"

"He what?" Gabriel finally reformed a connection between his brain and his tongue. He had never heard of an angel taking a vessel without consent. He didn't even know it was possible.

Sam shrugged and looked down to pick at the blanket, "The guy said he was some angel named Ezekiel. Dean later found out that Ezekiel had died in the fall. It wasn't until I... _he_ killed our friend Kevin and Crowley used Heaven's mind-breaking methods on him that they learned it was Gadreel. So, Dean told Crowley to _also_ possess me and tell me about the _angel_ possessing me so I could kick Gadreel out. Because I didn't know I was possessed and being kept locked away in some illusion while Gadreel carried out Metatron's orders. So I did. Cast him out, I mean."

"You had a the angel Gadreel and Crowley 'king of hell' both possess you at the same time?" Gabriel clarified in a quiet but charged voice.

The boy nodded and unconsciously rubbed his left shoulder before dropping the hand to clutch his left palm. It was a gesture Gabriel had witnessed several times since his arrival. The only real explanation he'd gotten so far was Castiel telling him how Sam had used an old injury to fight off hallucinations of Lucifer. But it did seem like it occurred more frequently during certain discussions. Usually concerning Sam's control over his own body and mind.

When clutching started causing damage, Gabriel intervened. "Hey there, kiddo," he said softly, reaching to rescue the poor palm. He repeated his earlier actions, massaging the muscle with his thumb. "Was that what you dreamed about?"

Sam nodded and looked away from their hands. "I hated it. Cas found leftover grace in me after I evicted Gadreel, and I just wanted him to get it _out!_ I couldn't stand the thought of him leaving something behind in me." His free hand started scratching at his neck, quickly leaving red streaks across the exposed skin.

This time, when Gabriel tried to reach for him, Sam jerked back. "No," he said with panic skirting the edge of his voice, "No, I don't need you to hold my hand."

"It's not so much about holding hands as it is keeping you from hurting yourself," Gabriel said calmly but didn't reach for him again. "Would it help to wear some gloves?"

Sam shuddered as he considered it, then shook his head. "No. It would be worse."

"Why worse?" he kept his tone curious and light.

"Because it cuts off sensation. Makes me feel stuck inside, unable to really feel things directly."

"That makes sense," Gabriel nodded, mind whirling, "Does pinching your palm and scratching help to feel things more clearly?"

Sam's eyes shot up to meet his, surprised to hear his behavior be understood by someone other than Dean. "That's one way of putting it."

"Hmm. What's another way?"

The boy shrugged even as he began to scratch absently at his forearm under the hoodie. "Things feel different in the real world. Or on Earth, anyway. I've spent a _lot_ of time questioning what is real—even before the cage when Meg possessed me and I found out about Azazel bleeding into my mouth as a baby. It just seems like every time I turn around, someone is telling me that everything is either a lie or an illusion, or there's something _wrong_ inside me. Part of me still expects to wake up in the cage with Lucifer telling me it was all just an elaborate game. Especially when reality reaches bizarre levels...like now."

Gabriel's jaw dropped open in shock. _Holy shit, Cassie!_ _Holy fucking shit! What in Dad's name...!? Did everyone just lose their fucking minds after the apocalypse?_

There was a pause. _Yes, frequently._

 _Did you know Sam still thinks he may be in the cage?_ Gabriel inhaled heavy through his nose.

 _I...no! No, he's never said..._

 _And no one's ever asked him._ It wasn't a question.

 _I do not know about others, but that is not a conversation I have had with him._ Guilt bled through Castiel's true-voice.

Gabriel mentally waved off his little brother and concentrated on Sam. The kid was wringing his hands to keep from scratching, and he looked miserable. Standing, the archangel brushed out his pants and offered Sam a hand up. "Why don't we take us a morning stroll? I'll show you how to test reality with your grace in a way that doesn't hurt. Did you know we can talk to the trees?"

Sam's eyes lit up as he took Gabriel's hand.

* * *

Mary sat in the kitchen, nursing her third cup of coffee in silence. She had been waiting in the kitchen with Dean since he'd stopped her running toward Sam's now-familiar screams. All he would say was that Castiel told him to leave without giving an explanation.

"And Sammy? Was he...sparking?" she'd asked, wanting nothing more than to barge down the hall and into his room. The angels had told them to stand back a few times, but never to flat-out leave. And there hadn't been a whisper of noise coming from the bedroom area since they sat down which made her want to check it even more.

"Not when I first got there," Dean answered, worry etched into his frown, "He just looked _mad._ But then he zapped Gabriel pretty good, so maybe they knew it was coming?" He looked just as adrift as she felt. There was comfort in their shared confusion.

An hour later, they were still waiting and contemplating their dislike at being shut out. Castiel's sudden arrival startled Mary enough to send her coffee flowing across the table. The scrape of Dean's chair and half-yelled, "Jesus Christ, Cas! Wear a damn bell next time!" told her she wasn't the only one on edge.

"Mary," the angel nodded at her. Then, his eyes hardened and turned to her son, "Dean."

"What the Hell, man? Did I piss in your Wheaties this morning or what? What made you so mad overnight?" Dean scowled at his friend.

"I don't..." Castiel started, caught off guard by the unfamiliar reference, but quickly moved forward, "I am angry because I spent the morning convincing Sam he is not trapped in his own mind while under angelic possession."

Dean paled. "Gadreel?" his voice was tight.

Castiel nodded and some of his fire seemed to dim with an ancient exhaustion. A waved gesture removed the coffee from the table as he retrieved the pot to refill her mug. Pouring one for himself, he sat at the end of the table with the humans on either side. "Yes, Gadreel. Sam dreamed of him last night. I thought it best you not be there until he was fully awake."

"I don't think I've heard his name before," Mary said, trying hard to remember all the things she'd learned in the past week or so.

"We don't talk about him a lot," Dean mumbled as he scrubbed a hand over his face, "Couple years back, Sammy did something trying to save the world that almost killed him. I mean, he was seconds from being reaped by Death-himself when I found someone willing to help."

Castiel cut him off, his anger rekindling, "No. You put a distress call out to every angel who had just fallen to Earth, then gave consent to force possession on your brother to the first one who showed up. An angel who used Sam's body to murder friends and strangers. An angel who locked Sam inside a hallucination. Which led to you allowing the King of Hell to _also_ possess your brother to convince Sam that Gadreel needed evicting. Consent of a vessel is a fundamental facet of an angel's existence. Even Lucifer abides by it."

Mary gaped at him but had no chance to say anything.

"I know, I know," Dean raised his hands in a placating manner, "I did things the wrong way. I should have been honest with him from the start, then a lot of things may have been different. You wouldn't have had to leave the bunker, for one. But Cas, he wanted to _die!_ "

Something softened in Castiel's face at hearing Dean's obvious pain. "I am not arguing that you Winchesters are both incapable of perceiving your own self-worth. Less than two weeks ago, _you_ walked into a confrontation with enough souls to destroy the Darkness. Do not be a hypocrite," he said the words as a plea.

Mary had learned about those events within minutes of encountering her oldest son in the cemetery, but it hadn't felt real then. Not when she was contemplating time travel and resurrection while wearing the nightgown she'd died in. Now, she knew each of them, saw how they cared about each other, and heard stories of the lengths they've all gone to save the others. What a desperate cycle of self-sacrifice and mourning these three have lived in for years... She realized Castiel was still talking and made herself pay attention.

"What I _am_ saying is you need to understand the gravity of your actions two years ago if you desire any kind of reconciliation on the matter," Castiel paused and studied the man to his left. Mary was slowly growing accustomed to their stares, but it still unnerved her when they got too intense. "Dean," the angel said after a moment, "why do you think Sam is still so upset about that whole situation?"

Dean blinked, "Uh, I guess...it's because I lied to him. And I let an angel possess him, obviously."

"You both lie to each other on a constant basis. The possession was, in and of itself, a heinous violation—your repeated insistence that he is overreacting, however, not only belittles the act's impact on Sam but downgrades the scope of your own responsibility."

Mary watched Dean look up at the ceiling and silently mouth words to himself like he was trying to figure out what Castiel had just said. It took him a second before his face twisted in outrage. "You think I don't feel guilty enough for saving Sam's life? And I don't think he overreacts about Gadreel—I just think that, of all the things he's going to hold against me, I've done worse. Remember me chasing Sam with a hammer? All I'm saying is...I wish he didn't consider me saving his life a worse memory than all the times I've tried to kill him."

"Guilt is not the same as taking responsibility, Dean, I—hold on," the angel put up his hand and winced like he had a headache, "it's Gabriel."

Pushing her mug away, Mary struggled between the rising-heat of nausea and the urge to laugh hysterically. Every single morning since her resurrection, she woke up swearing that today would be the day. Today, there wouldn't be any new soul-crushingly terrible things from her boys' past to learn. It just wasn't possible for two people to survive so much. But each day she learned something new, and it always seemed worse than the previous tales.

Castiel sucked in a breath, signaling a return from 'angel-radio' with Gabriel. She looked up to see an unsettling devastation on the normally stoic face. He stood and paced a few steps before turning to gaze directly at Dean with...was that _tears_ in his eyes? Mary had never considered whether or not angels were capable of crying, but seeing the answer now was incredibly upsetting for some reason.

"Did you know there are times when Sam still thinks he's in the cage?" Castiel asked, his voice the lowest she'd heard it.

"He what?!" Dean barely got the words out. He went from pale to gray and his earlier outrage vanished as he pushed back from the table like he might get up too. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on knees and head hanging down.

"Do you know what it means to question reality all the way down to your very existence? To have your sense of self stripped away until you've even lost your name? For someone else to impose their will over your mind and body? Because I do. Both by my own actions with the Leviathans and Lucifer, and the actions of others—Heaven's reprogramming and Rowena's spell. It is only now, as I rediscover more and more who I am, that I realize how much I lost in those moments." He took the seat next to Dean and held his hand out, saying, "I want to show you something."

"Like, 'travel to the past' show me something? Or 'we're gonna walk to the next room' show me something?" Dean asked skeptically, shaken from Castiel's revelations.

"I want to show you what your brother feels when he remembers Gadreel," the answered with his hand hovering steadily.

"Why?" Dean gulped and leaned away.

"Because while you say you don't believe he's overreacting, you do not have the understanding to appreciate how _little_ Sam has reacted at all. Because you _must_ have that understanding if Sam is ever going to trust you to not do it again. Because if you want your brother to choose life over death, you can't force him through something to which death is preferable."

They stared at each other, Mary forgotten. She could barely breathe through the heaviness in the room and in her heart. With her hand over her mouth, she tried not to let her knee bounce as she waited.

Finally, Dean nodded though his body shook with nerves. "Yeah, okay. Do it, Cas."

Castiel didn't immediately reach out, giving Dean a chance to change his mind. When her oldest son simply nodded again, the angel stood and walked behind Dean's chair. Leaning down, he placed his hand on Dean's chest, pulled him firmly back into his chair. Blue-eyes blazed with incandescent light. The effect was instant—Dean gave a strangled gasp that continued into a growling whine as his eyes grew wide in terror. His body jerked and flailed and would have fallen to the floor if not for Castiel's hand.

It was over in less than a few seconds. The light faded from Castiel's eyes and Dean collapsed against the angel's hand with half-sob, heaving breaths. Mary felt frozen—a helpless intruder.

Castiel dragged a chair closer and sat next to Dean without breaking contact with the man. "I'm sorry. I did not wish to hurt you."

"He was so scared," Dean whispered, grasping Castiel's hand to his chest, "And there was this _pressure_ _inside_ , and it...oh God, it felt so _wrong!_ " Tears streamed over his cheeks unchecked. "It was everywhere, but there was no way to respond...no body, no arms or legs, to control. He was just so confused and scared and in pain. And I did that?

Castiel wiped the tears from Dean's cheeks with his thumb and gave a simple nod. "You facilitated the means for it to happen. However, you did not possess your brother yourself."

Dean snorted and his face morphed into self-disgust. "If I set someone up to be...violated by some asshole, I'm just as guilty as the asshole."

"I am relieved to hear you say that, Dean." Castiel said, removing his hands from the hunter and leaning back into his chair.

"You...what?" Dean said in utter confusion. He looked torn between whether he should calculate how offended he was allowed to be or accept Castiel's recrimination as penance for his crimes.

"I did not show you that as punishment. I showed you because you need to understand. Sam needs you to understand." The angel gave a small smile that was more of a grimace, "The issue of Gadreel will not fade into the background like it has in the past. Sam is different now—he can't compartmentalize his feelings and thoughts anymore. As he integrates more repressed memories into his consciousness, he may struggle with recognizing reality. He will never move past this if he continues to fear you repeating your actions. And that will always be his fear if you never acknowledge what your role cost him."

"Yeah, I get it now."

"You do?" There was no judgment or accusation in Castiel's voice.

"Well, you only showed me a flash of Sam's emotions, but I at least have an idea of how much I _didn't_ get it before." Dean's green eyes shone with the weight of understanding, "But that was...I don't really have anything to compare it to. I still feel like I need to inject bleach into my veins to get clean. I mean, I've been cursed before—witches, Djinns, angels. I even got possessed by Eve's ear-slug and killed a hunter! But it didn't feel like that. I can't...if that's how he felt with Gadreel, I can't fucking imagine how it was with Lucifer. "

Castiel did grimace this time and looked over Dean's shoulder. "He is not an easy presence to co-exist beside."

"Shit, Cas," Dean whispered, then grew louder, "Shit! How much have I missed? How many times have I swept something aside when you two have felt like this?"

"It is not all the time, but there have been occasions where you did not, perhaps, see the extent of how something effected us." Castiel answered honestly, but with warmth.

"I don't..." he cut off with a sigh, "Can I ask you to not let me do that? I don't want to be that person, Cas. I've made a lot of mistakes over the years—some I'm still finding out about. We've talked about a few big ones, but we probably haven't even mentioned most. If dealing with Chuck's family drama taught me anything, it's the importance of making amends with those you've hurt. Especially if they're also the ones you've loved."

"And preferably before they break the universe," Castiel gave a smirk that had become more frequent since Gabriel's return.

Dean laughed sadly, "You're right. How many times have we gotten to that point, though? More than a few by my count."

"Yes," Castiel nodded, "But we've always managed to put it mostly back together."

"'You break it, you bought it?'"

"Something like that, although I do not wish to own the world. I do not make a very good god."

"I don't know anyone who really does."

They shared a smile, and then the angel wrapping Mary's son in a fierce embrace. The sight became blurred by tears as they sat there for a few minutes in silence that was comforting instead of tense. When they pulled apart, she wiped at her face and tried to smile.

Castiel looked at her with those piercing blue eyes. "Mary," he said as he stood and came to kneel next to her, "I apologize. It was unfair of me to exclude you so much from this conversation."

"It's okay, I wasn't really up to forming words for most of it anyway," she said while shakily straightening the angel's collar. His trench coat tended to always shift around on his shoulders without the angel knowing it. Or maybe he just never realized he could fix it.

Hands reached up to still her fingers and she saw him watching her with concern. "I'm sorry," he said it in a way that made her think he was apologizing for more than ignoring her.

"For what?" she asked, slightly baffled.

"I'm sorry that every day you learn a new way your sons were failed by those who should have protected them. Each of these events on their own could overwhelm a person—to hear of so many events in such a short period of time must be incredibly heavy. You are a very strong person, Mary Winchester. I can see where the boys get it from." His sincerity was always verging on shocking to experience.

"Well, thank you, Castiel," she said slowly, turning his words over in her head. It seemed absurd—to equate the deeds of these three heroic people with her ability to hide her internal panic. Mary was still floundering from moment to moment, barely keeping her head above water. She frequently caught herself gripped by a surge of certainty that her babies, the ones she'd left behind two weeks ago, needed her _now._ Then, Dean would laugh or Sam would scornfully berate Gabriel for some unbelievable hi-jinx, and she would remember that they _survived_. Without her by their side, they still managed to scrape by enough to make it to today.

"You are here now, and you are needed now," he said with a glance at Dean who was wiping his face with a cloth, "None of us can change the past, and we learn to adjust quickly because our futures change drastically here. But that does not mean we forget what we've lost—or who we've left behind."

"Yeah," she choked with images of John and the babies.

"Please let us know if you need something. Even if it's just someone to listen, or 'Netflix and chill.' That is one of my favorite coping mechanisms."

"I have no idea what a 'Netflix' is, but it sounds interesting," she smiled, humbled by the intriguing offer.

Castiel stood and gathered their cups to wash in the sink. "Neither did I, but—"

A blinding flash of white blasted the room and Mary screamed as she tried to cover her eyes. The sound of Dean's shout and glass breaking barely registered in the painful brightness. It ended just as quickly as it started and Mary held tightly to the table, blinking away the afterimage burned into her vision.

"Mom!" Dean barked. She heard him stumble into the table and felt the vibrations as it screeched across the floor. "Mom! You okay?!"

"Yeah, I think so," she felt disoriented, "What happened?"

"I don't know. Cas is gone and it looked like an angel banishing, but I've never heard of a sigil being effective from a distance. Which means someone may be in the bunker." He pulled open a kitchen drawer and pulled out two guns. Checking both with efficiency and speed, he handed one to Mary and motioned for her to follow.

"Are you sure he's okay? What if it..." she didn't want to say it out loud, frantic with worry for him and the others.

But Dean was shaking his head, "No, if an angel gets killed it burns their wings into the ground. Banishing angels is usually bright and flashy, but that was nuclear-level. I've never seen anything that strong. We need to find Sam and Gabriel."

* * *

Sam kicked up leaves on the trail back to the bunker. He always felt lighter after these sessions in grace-work and getting to listen to a tree's thoughts and words was his new favorite thing. It didn't even matter how much Dean was going to make fun of him because Sam was already planning on doing that again before nightfall. Maybe even a few times.

Gabriel was explaining the trees in different regions of the world, and how they all communicated in a unique way. When they entered their picnic clearing, his words cut off abruptly and it made Sam stop walking and look back at him. The archangel was staring ahead with a look of shock and horror on his face.

The woods lit up in an explosion of energy. Pain ripped through Sam and he fell to the ground. Screams poured from his throat as it suddenly felt like his grace-soul was trying to tear loose from his body. He laid, convulsing on the ground, unable to do anything but watch as a shockwave of light launched Gabriel's true-form into the atmosphere, barely contained in his vessel.

Slowly, the pain ebbed enough that his screams turned to sobs and he tried to breath through the pain. Footsteps crunched toward him and he tilted his head enough to see a man wearing a black suit coming closer. Sam's limbs spasmed uselessly and whimpers escaped with each tight breath. All of his senses were on fire and his brain felt like it had been shredded by a cheese grater.

"Well, look at you. Aren't you just an incredible delicious little thing?" The newcomer's voice was deep, though not as deep as Castiel's rumbling bass, but what stood out was the accent—British. Same as the woman who had shot him.

The man knelt by Sam's head and stared at him with curiosity and a dark spark of dangerous glee. A tattooed hand appeared in front of his eyes and firmly wrapped around Sam's jaw, tilting his head back. Sam kicked out with his feet, trying to push himself away from the hand but the grip was unyielding.

"None of that now, little halo," the voice soothed. Cold, smooth metal fell across his neck and Sam really started to panic. The hand lifted his head and the metal slipped underneath, sliding across his skin until a loud 'click' was heard. "Good boy! That'll keep ya from hurting yourself and others."

 _Oh God, it's a collar,_ Sam thought as the hand released his jaw and roughly pet his hair. It took him a moment to realize the collar's purpose. Gabriel had been getting Sam into the habit of using his grace to reach out and explore. But when he tried to reach toward the collar and man, there was nothing. His connection to his grace was gone. He could feel the grace sitting there under his skin, but not interact with it. Kinda like his limbs at the moment.

Whistling to himself, the man flipped Sam onto his stomach and cuffed his hands. The cold ground cut into his face as he felt cuffs snap onto his ankles. Then, his body was swung high into the air until his abdomen landing on the man's shoulder. It punched the air from his body and Sam almost vomited down the suit back. He half-wished he'd at least had coffee so he could spew something just out of spite.

They walked for a while through the woods, away from the road and bunker. Neither spoke, although for Sam it was less a personal choice and more the lack of breath he could get while being bounced on his stomach. They came out on a dirt road, little more than a wide trail. A black SUV sat parked in the brush. The man pressed a button on his keys and the trunk slowly slid open.

There were no back passenger seats in the vehicle. Instead, there was a heavy-duty animal pen built into the interior with bars covered in ancient symbols. "In ya go!" the man said cheerfully as he swung open the little door and dropped Sam onto his knees in front of it. A hand pushed between his shoulder blades and he fell into the cage. He heard the door latch and lock behind him. When he rolled onto his side and looked, the man had his hand on the trunk hatch and was staring at him with a cold smile. "Oh, I do love getting a new baby monster."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
Whew! And we're off...  
This is gonna be a long one, folks. Probably a bit more than a 3-part arc.

Hang in there, ya heathens! And leave me some comments...my soul is hungry...  
But for reals, your words to me and our shared discussions fuel my work and birth ideas! Thanks for everything :)

 ** _TRIGGER WARNING_ : THE FOLLOWING TWO CHAPTERS CONTAIN GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF VIOLENCE. **


	14. The Valley of the Shadow pt 2

_**Trigger Warning : graphic descriptions of cannon-level violence involving the little halo...**_

* * *

 **THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW  
PART 2: THY ROD AND THY STAFF**

Dean paced through the bunker war room with an ax, furious with desperation. It had been almost an hour since Castiel disappeared and they were sitting ducks. Every possible exit was sealed by magic. Mary sat researching dispelling rituals in case it didn't break down on its own. He threw the ax down on the ground and collapsed in the chair across from his mother.

"I can't even break the glass!" he growled in frustration. Mary didn't respond. In fact, it looked like she hadn't even heard him. His voice gentled, "Mom, you okay?"

"I may have found something," she answered, distracted.

"What is it?" Dean asked, eager to _do_ something. Anything was better than bouncing an ax off thin glass.

"It's a spell to break binding magics, but it will break _all_ magic—not just whatever is keeping us in here. All the warding from before and the new stuff Gabriel's been adding will be gone. It could potentially break any enchantments on objects you have stored in the bunker. But it should get us out." She knew the decision would not be made lightly. Dean could tell from the skepticism written all over her face.

"Shit. That's not a good option," he buried his head in his hands, trying not to feel like everything was spinning in chaos, "We haven't found _half_ the shit kept in this place. Who knows if some enchanted potion bottle explodes and sets off a chain reaction?" He shuddered, imagining them being dissolved in acid or shrunk to the size of insects or something equally awful.

The sound of a sob made Dean snap his head up. Mary was bent over the table, fingers gripping the leather-bound book until her knuckles turned white. He was out of his seat and around the table in a flash. "Mom, it'll be okay. We'll find them. I promise. If anyone can get out of sticky situations, it's those three." His hands gently pulled her back up so he could wrap her in a hug.

"I know, it's just," her voice broke as she tried to talk through the crying, "I've lost him too many times over already. I lost him as an infant. Lost an entire childhood and sending him to college. Lost him each time he died and came back without me there. Lost the adult son he grew into and now I finally found him only to lose him again." Laughter tinged with hysteria ebbed quickly, leaving a resigned weariness. "I know they are all capable, powerful individuals. I know Sammy's not _really_ a child, but he _is_ physically defenseless. I mean, he still struggles with balance while walking in kids' shoes. It's not exactly like he's battle-ready."

Dean forced a laugh, "Mom, Sam started learning basic self-defense when he was four. Yeah, he's still getting used to being small, but he's got decades of hunting experience at his disposal. And even more knowledge of lore. Hopefully, they're all together, or in a position to help each other. We need to get some eyes outside..." He pressed a quick kiss to his mother's head and walked back around the table. "Let's table that spell for right now. We can keep it as a last resort, but I've got an idea."

"Your father started training you kids at four years old?" Mary asked emptily.

Dean paused, "We didn't let Sammy find out about the supernatural world until he was older, but dad still had him training. Things like how to get out of holds and physical stuff like running and push-ups. Dad wanted us to be able to defend ourselves once he knew what kind of things really existed."

"He made you do push-ups? At four years old?" She didn't sound relieved at all.

Dean felt his cheeks burn. When Sam would point these things out, it had always made Dean feel a familiar bubbling anger and need to defend their dad's actions. Over the years, that response had tapered with the growing understanding that Sam wasn't wrong. His own experience as a father to Ben had only reinforced the realization that John's parenting skills sucked.

"I know. It's not normal, and it isn't what you wanted for us. But it kept us alive, and hopefully Sam won't even need it. He could be on the other side of the front door while we're sealed up in here. So we can..." he shuddered at even the thought, "talk about dad later, okay? Let's get out of here first."

Mary nodded, wiping her tears and taking a deep breath. "What was your idea?"

"We've got this friend—I think you'll like her," Dean answered with a grin as he scrolled through his contacts. He hit 'dial' and put it on speakerphone, "Jody Mills! How's my favorite sheriff?"

* * *

Sam had no idea how long they'd been driving. The windows were so tinted he couldn't make out anything through them. The only light came in through the windshield and it was interrupted by trees and bridges and clouds. Usually, he could judge time by his body's physical reactions when he was in restraints. It happened often enough that he knew how long before his muscles would shake, or burn, or go numb. But he had no experience in this new body.

His kidnapper didn't talk to him while driving, so Sam took advantage of the silence to think through his options. He sat in the corner across from the cage door, directly behind the front passenger seat which allowed him to see both the driver and the doors. Helplessness was no excuse for ignorance and he planned on paying attention to everything.

The collar was upsetting. Not just the effect it was having on his grace, but its very presence. Humiliation and fear rose every time the metal shifted across his skin. Enemies always loved to wrap things around Sam's neck—usually crushing hands trying to strangle him.

Grace buzzed along his arms and spine. It had been building since the blast, reacting to the light-explosion but not anything Sam tried to do. If he was in the bunker with Gabriel and Castiel, he would have already asked for their help. Drawing his knees to his chest, Sam buried his face against the soft pajama pants. Which was a bizarre thought—him willing to ask for help. From angels.

A wave of longing hit Sam hard as he thought of the others. He hoped Gabriel was safe and unharmed by whatever that light did to him. It had looked like an angel banishing but juiced up to be something far more powerful than they'd witnessed before. Certainly strong enough to reach Castiel inside the bunker.

Leaning forward caused the collar to dig into his throat until panic choked him even more. Shifting back pushed his arms down and they burned with the strain. Irritation ate away at his focus. _Cas! Gabe! Where are you? I'm in a black SUV. I don't know where, but we're driving. I hope...I hope you're both okay._

The inside of the SUV fell dark. He turned to look out the front window and saw a concrete ceiling—they had driven into a garage or compound. Sam's heartbeat pounded against his chest and he forced himself to breathe through his nose so he didn't hyperventilate. He tried to arrange his body into a better defense position, but quickly discovered there wasn't one.

A deep chuckle came from behind Sam, and he twisted to see the man staring at him in amusement. "Not sure what you're doing there, but if rolling around on the floor makes you feel better then by all means, go ahead."

Sam stayed silent as they parked, fear thrumming under the surface. The man whistled as he got out of the vehicle and moved around to the trunk. It opened to reveal a three-car garage with a door leading into another building.

A woman with a severe bun, sharp face, and large gun hanging across her shoulder walked through the door. "It give you any trouble, then?" Her voice was lower than Sam expected. He wondered if there was some vocal requirement here, and if they'd try to recruit Cas...

Dizziness made their faces swirl in spots of light and Sam realized he'd been holding his breath. Gasping in air, his vision cleared to show the woman much closer. She peered into the cage, studying him. He studied her back.

"No trouble at all! It was all rather easy, actually," the man sounded disappointed, "I sent the ArchJoke and other halo a few systems over. You should have seen its face when it realized it couldn't sense me!"

"Powerful and useless," the woman scoffed and shook her head, "Go ahead and get this one settled, Shepard. The old men are anxious for any type of report. If he really is some kind of angel-infant, then he's the first since humanity's creation. They want to know everything."

"Right away, mum," he gave a half-mock salute and unlocked the cage door.

Hoisting her gun, she pointed it through the bars, "No funny business, itty bit. You're only as cute as a diseased puppy. I will not hesitate to put you down if I think you'd bite."

Sam stared down the barrel of the gun, remembering to breathe, as the man grabbed both his ankles in one hand and effortlessly pulled him out. He quickly found himself hoisted over the man's shoulder again and tried to map out their area as they went through the door. The place looked like an abandoned clinic recently cleaned and reopened.

Old benches lined the walls of a waiting area decorated in pictures of pets and advertisements for flea medicine. The air smelled musty and stale with an eye-watering blast of strong, familiar cleaners. Sam's stomach clenched as they went through a narrow hall that led to an area with steel tables and a large kennel. They were in an animal hospital.

There was a metal clanging noise and Sam felt the arms lower him. Hands flipped him around and laid him on his stomach on a sheet-covered floor. He only managed one push with his cuffed legs before a large hand clamped onto the back of his neck and squeezed painfully.

"No!" the man's voice turned harsh for the first time and Sam immediately stilled. The pressure increased as the man leaned closer. "Learn to listen, little halo, and you'll be fine. But if you fight us, or ignore us...if I see even a hint of those pretty baby teeth, you will _not_ be fine. Understand? No, don't try to nod. I've heard you prattle on about everything from Enochian translations to the philosophies of pop song. I know you can talk, so use your tongue. Do you understand?"

Sam's jaw clenched in outrage at the implication that the man had been watching them. He had last discussed the language with Castiel while Gabriel groomed their grace four evenings ago, and music the following morning. How had these people managed to spy on an isolated bunker filled with paranoid hunters and powerful angels? Fear blurred into fury that left him shaking, but knowing they had plans beyond killing him made him determined.

"Oooh, Shep, I think you made it mad," the woman laughed.

"You should have seen how they spoiled him. Always petting and fussing over him, playing games and catering to every whim." The man—Shepard—snapped the cuffs open and hauled Sam to his knees by the grip on his neck. Before Sam could react, the hoodie was pulled from his torso. The move yanked his arms above his head and he couldn't stop the pained gasp.

"Are we _sure_ this is Sam Winchester?" she asked.

"Definitely. Don't let this angel-face fool ya. He's still the same person who worked with dark creatures and released a whole host of other shit into this world. And he remembers everything. More now, actually—including all the details of the devil's cage." Without the hoodie, the cold air leached any remaining warmth from Sam's thin body. As soon as the sleeves slipped off his hands, his body tilted forward. Shepard stopped his descent by grabbing a handful of Sam's shirt without effort.

"That will make the old men happy. I just didn't picture him being this quiet. Or small. I mean, I've read your recent reports, but after seeing so much footage of the giant he was just a few weeks ago..."

"Well, be thankful for small miracles. Smaller is easier. Size is out of his control." Fingers covered Sam's jaw and tilted it up until he was face-to-face with pale, cruel eyes, "This silence, though? That's about spite." He paused, like he was waiting for something. Sam stared at him. "Still no answer?"

Sam's eyes glanced over at the woman. She was leaning casually against the bars, but her hold on the gun was solid and it was still pointed directly at him. Looking back at Shepard, Sam narrowed his eyes and took a chance. It wasn't like these arrogant pricks could do worse than Lucifer. "Screw you."

Shepard dropped his hand from Sam's face and gave a vicious smile. "Wrong answer."

Sam slammed into the bars of the cage when the man backhanded him. It was like being smashed in the face with a baseball bat. His body curled inward on instinct, muscles screaming as he tried to shield his head with limp arms. Crumbling onto the cement floor, he had a brief moment of gratitude that his back had hit instead of his head. There was enough ringing in Sam's ears without being bashed against metal poles.

A bruising grasp clamped onto his wrist and dragged him to the center of the kennel. Sam blinked through blurry vision to see manacles that seemed to be a recent addition drilled into the floor. Two small metal bands lay open at the hinges and separated from each other by roughly two feet of space. His wrist was pressed tight into one and the manacle glowed briefly when snapped shut. It was almost too tight, leaving no wiggle room to even turn his hand. The man stretched Sam's free arm to the other restraint and repeated the action while Sam watched, stunned and disconnected from what was happening.

The new position was awkward and uncomfortable, forcing his body low to the ground. His palms stuck straight out from the manacles and hovered a couple inches above the ground, providing no leverage to hold himself up. He couldn't roll onto his side or sit up. The most he could hope to do was push up on his forearms and elbows and maybe get his knees under him—and he would rather lay flat.

The choice was taken from him when Sam's foot was grabbed and he strained to keep his chin from scraping as he was pulled back a few inches. His shoes and socks were removed and thrown out of the cage. "What do you think, Ms Watt? Do monsters get to wear pants?" the deep voice sounded both frustrated and amused. Not a reassuring combination.

"On a normal day, or when they've been bad?" 'Ms Watt' asked in a bored tone.

Shepard chuckled and reached for Sam's pajama pants.

"No, please!" Sam finally rasped, squeezing his eyes shut in shame for giving in at all.

"Oh, it's 'please' now, is it?" Shepard mocked, but left the pants in place. "How quickly the tone changes! Well, let's see if some quiet time works on that attitude." He gave Sam's hair a rough sweep of his hand and stood up. Grabbing the sheet off the floor, he walked out. Ms Watt locked it and followed Shepard to the door.

Sam turned his head as far as he could to watch them. He saw the woman glance his way with an empty smile. "Rest while you can, puppy. Hopefully you'll remember your manners when we return." She flipped a switch and the room plunged into darkness. Emergency lights kicked in and emitted a faint red glow from somewhere outside his range of vision.

As his eyes adjusted to the loss of bright florescents, the red seemed to grow stronger, reflecting off all the metal surfaces of the hospital. For several minutes, all he heard was his own heavy breathing and rush of blood in his ears. His cheek felt fractured from being hit and the cold ground eased some of the pain at first. However, the rest of his body was losing heat quickly through the concrete.

Sam shivered as he tried to adjust his shirt by shifting his body and pulling the material against the ground. The fabric had been pushed up to his chest when Shepard yanked off his shoes. Thin cloth offered almost no protection against the freezing floor, but it was better than bare skin.

A fan kicked on in a loud, grinding roar and Sam's whole body jumped. It alarmed him further when icy air poured into the room. Soon, his body was shaking and trying to curl in on itself, but couldn't with his arms clamped down the way they were. Echoes of Lucifer's laughter overlapped with the deafening air conditioner and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, praying someone found him soon.

* * *

Somewhere in a galaxy approximately 1.6 million light years from Earth's home in the Milky Way, an archangel clutched tightly to a smaller seraph as they both fell blazing through space. Gabriel had only been able to catch hold of his younger brother by chance as they had been propelled from the Earth by an object humans shouldn't even know exists, let alone have and be able to operate.

The banishment had been mixed with other components which left the angels' wings bound and unable to stop their uncontrolled hurtling. But the further they got from Earth, the weaker the binding grew until Gabriel was finally able to extend his wings. It was enough to redirect their course and slam them onto a comet.

 _Hold on Cassie!_ Gabriel's true-voice screamed.

Ice shattered in an explosion as they crashed several miles into the massive space debris' surface. When they came to a stop, their vessels were slightly shredded despite trying to shield them with grace. Gabriel didn't wait for Castiel to heal himself and just pieced them both back together with a thought. Wide blue eyes stared in horror out the tunnel they had created in the collision.

 _Gabriel, where are we?!_ Castiel sounded shaken to the core. _What happened?_

Stretching out all six of his wings, Gabriel tested them by jumping them a mile closer to the asteroid's surface. _Whoa! That was weird. I can physically fly but I can't fold time and space as I go. It's like going from a space rocket to a pogo-stick!_ He jumped them four more times, each time going a little further and feeling his control strengthening. They emerged onto the breathtaking ice-giant, stunned by the beauty of their Father's creation. _Oh my Dad—this is Barnard's Galaxy! I haven't been out this way since it first formed..._

 _Gabriel, what happened?_ Castiel finally repeated even as he continued to stare around at the sea of stars.

 _Sam and I went for a walk and we came back to find a man sitting at the picnic table. But I couldn't feel him, Cas! It was like he was just this black hole of nothing. I could see him with my vessel's eyes, but that was it._ Gabriel shook his head, remembering how shocked he'd been. Especially when he had seen what the man was holding. _Cassie, he has a Tear._

 _A what?_ Castiel turned to him with a frown.

 _A Tear of God! He has a Tear of frickin' God! And he knows how to use it, which is way more upsetting..._ he trailed off to contemplate that thought and jumped them a few hundred miles across to a towering mountain of crystallized water and rock. He few more of those, and he'd be strong enough to start the journey home.

 _I thought those were just a myth,_ Castiel commented.

 _That's because no one has seen them in ages._

 _What are they?_

 _Exactly what the name implies—Tears of God. The story goes that there were three times in all of creation that our Father truly wept. We're talking full-out ugly crying, not some single man tear. In each of those occasions, the tears solidified into an orb of immense power. There was a fourth major orb formed the day we defeated Amara—it was actually the first. But Dad immediately used it to create the Mark that locked His sister away._

 _They are that powerful?_ Castiel asked with wide eyes as they jumped into the tail of the comet and stared in wonder around the cloud of gasses.

Gabriel pushed as much grace as he could into his wings and felt most of the binding finally break away. It wouldn't take long for it to completely dissolve once they really got going. _They are the most powerful artifacts in existence. Let's just say it's a good thing I caught you on the way out of Earth's atmosphere or you may have never made it back._ He sighed mentally. _They were supposed to be under guard, locked away in Heaven's weapon stores._

 _Ah, yes. Well, many of them were emptied and hidden in caches by various factions during Heaven's civil war._ Castiel turned away in obvious embarrassment and brushed icicles from his trench coat.

 _We may want to check on that. But first things first,_ Gabriel held out his hand and Castiel took it without hesitation, _Let's go save us some Winchesters._

Gabriel took off with an almighty crack that pulverized the comet below their feet. Even with the ability to fold the universe around them, he knew it would still take time to return. He let loose his grace, ramping them to breakneck speeds even by angelic standards.

Suddenly, in the cold silence of space, a small scared voice reached the angels' ears. _Ca...abe...are yo...ack SU...I don't kn...ere...driving...I hope...oth okay._

Gabriel gasped. A second later, he felt Castiel's grace surge against their bond, pouring in to help fuel their flight. The archangel squeezed his brother's hand and tried to answer back to the lost fledgling. _We're coming, Sammy!_

* * *

Sam lost track of the passing hours. He had counted the fan turning on and off a total of three times so far, but there was no way of telling if it had a set schedule or if the two Brits were manually controlling it. His body shook hard with a cold that sat painfully in his bones. During the second arctic storm of air conditioning he'd given in and forced his knees under his chest. It was less comfortable, but would hopefully allow him to retain some body heat. Rescue was pointless if he froze to death first.

Grace built steadily through the hours of disuse. Sam couldn't tell the difference anymore between muscle aches, needles of numbness, and the crawling static of grace. It made him shake worse and tears trickled down his nose to pool on gray concrete.

 _'We've done a lot more with pain.'_ Lucifer's voice sang through the room and the red-light glow intensified.

Sam clenched his eyes closed against the flashback and tried to recite the Enochian alphabet. He reached for the memory of Castiel tracing the ancient language in warm grace against his back, patiently explaining each symbol Sam couldn't guess, and smiling proudly when he got one right. The fire crackling warm and pleasant, bright flames dancing around Gabriel's special never-burning-out cedar wood.

 _'All I got is you, floating over the coals with half a hope that you're gonna figure it all out.'_ Lucifer taunted him. The flames rose up as cage bars returned. ' _You poor clueless son of a bitch. Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?'_ The devil burned cold around Sam and he curled his body tighter against the pain and panic.

" **Pa, Veh, Ged, Gal, Or, Un,** " Sam's teeth chattered as he forced air and sound with a tongue that felt swollen, " **Graph, Tal, Gon, Na, Ur, Mals, Ger, Drux, Pal, Med, Don, Ceph, Van, Fam, Gisg...** " As soon as he reached the end, he started the letter names over again.

 _'I'm bored! Pay attention to me!'_ The collar dug into his throat as he tried to suck in air. Stuttered Enochian was met with laughter that slowly circled closer. ' _You look good on your knees, pet. How long have I kept you there now, hmm? Seven days? Or is it months? I can never keep track of time. No windows. I've made complaints to management. I'm still waiting for a word back.'_

Sam kept his head down, knowing he wasn't expected to answer. But hadn't he just been speaking? It seemed an important thing to remember, and he grasped at thoughts as wispy as fog.

 _Fog._ He had seen fog that morning. With Gabriel...and Castiel.

His eyes opened to reveal the cement floor. The pool of water collecting there was larger than he remembered, and that bothered him for some reason. It took a while to separate out the past from the present. Every time he felt himself getting a hold on reality, there was a voice in the back of his mind that whispered how Lucifer was free and searching for a vessel.

 _What if he's trying to reach me? Convince me to say 'yes' again?_ he thought wildly as his hands clenched, digging fingernails into numb palms. The lack of mobility and sensation in his extremities made the grounding gesture futile. Anxiety had no where else to go, and he was physically incapable of responding to it with his body bound and frozen.

Bright white light flooded the room suddenly, and Sam's eyes burned for the split second before he could shut them. He heard voices muttering incoherently to each other and the clattering of objects being dumped out on the metal exam table.

"Naptime's over!" Shepard said cheerfully as he unlocked the cage. Cramped shoulder and neck muscles made it impossible for Sam to turn his head, and there were still spots of light blinking behind his closed eyelids. He just hoped whatever these people planned included him being allowed to warm up or move out of this position. Preferably both.

"What's it doing, Shep?" Ms Watt asked, still over by the table.

Footsteps walked around to stop in front of where Sam's hands were locked in place. When the man spoke again, his voice was even closer, crouched down near Sam's head. "I do believe he's sorry for his earlier rudeness. How about it, little halo? Regretting your choices yet?"

Sam just kept his head against his knees, too exhausted to respond. Shepard chuckled and unlocked the manacles. Unbound, Sam still couldn't move his arms after holding the same position for so long.

"Up you go," the man grabbed him by the armpits and pulled him upright. Sam tried to muffle a cry as agony shot through his body when he was made to sit back on his heels. Pale eyes appeared in front of his face and Sam could do nothing except hang limply in the man's grasp. "Not feeling so spiteful anymore, are ya?" Hands cupped Sam's face and wiped tears and snot away with a handkerchief in rough swipes. He noted that the man was wearing another pristine black suite and looked like he was on his way to a meeting business executive, "Now, here is what is going to happen. We are going to ask you questions and run some basic tests. You are going to answer everything to our satisfaction and behave. Do that, and we may give you that sheet back tonight. Disobey like you did earlier, and the past few hours will feel like a trip to the spa. Understand?"

Sam's teeth chattered hard enough to hurt. God, he hoped he wasn't still here for another night. He gave a nod when he couldn't work up enough moisture to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth. There was nothing he'd like to do more than claw the man's eyes out, but Sam had to remain realistic about his situation. Dissent would have to be dispensed with care if he planned to survive.

"Good boy," Shepard ruffled Sam's hair and fisted a handful of the messy locks, hard enough to control but not really hurt. Standing, the man circled behind Sam without releasing the curls. A large arm wrapped around his stomach and lifted him. The man's body heat soaked into Sam's icy skin and seared through to his muscles. It was simultaneously painful and a relief.

They moved toward the table where Ms Watt stood ready with her gun and a camera. Medical equipment was organized on a standing tray, and Sam's body tensed. Something registered on Ms Watt's face and she grinned at his reaction. "Smile, puppy!" she said and the camera gave off a series of light bursts.

"Oi! Quit that, it's bloody irritating." The man laid Sam out on his back across the steel table. He was held in place by a large hand resting flat on top of his chest, fingers skirting along the collar at the base of his throat. It was less restraining than it was a precautionary move to keep him from rolling off. The man didn't even glance at Sam as he prepared what looked like an human thermometer.

Turning to Sam, he pushed the plastic tipped end into his ear for a few seconds until it beeped. "Fucking American piece of shite," he mumbled as he read the number, "What's eighty-eight point two degrees Fahrenheit converted to Celsius?"

"Thirty-one point two," Ms Watt drawled.

"We should let the monsters take the whole lot of them just for their bastardized measuring system," Shepard said frowning as he typed into something Sam couldn't see above his head. No one seemed concerned that Sam's body temperature was ten degrees too low. The process was repeated with the rest of his vitals. The man tested his reflexes, felt the glands in his neck, and shined a light into Sam's eyes, ears, nose, and throat. He ended the exam by taking a few vials of blood Shepard spoke again as he placed labels on each tube, "Okay, let's strip him so we can get his weight and you can do your photo shoot for the old men."

Sam fought to bring his hands up but barely managed to drag them onto his belly. His body was kitten-weak from being cold and bound for so long. Fighting tears, he tried to ignore the mortification of losing what little dignity his pajamas afforded him. He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth of the exam table lights. They formed patterns through the thin skin of his eyelids and he mentally traced them, trying to form symbols in the shifting swirls of illumination.

Brightness pulsed, whiting-out the distracting patterns. Sam flinched and he felt the man's hand lightly press high on his chest again. "Settle, now," the hand went away and another several flashes followed, "You're a rare beastie, little halo. And the old men are collectors of rare things."

"Nothing more rare than this kid. What word do they use to refer to their own young again?"

"Fledgling. And if I never hear that word again, it'll be too soon. ArchJoke and the other one used it constantly, always making sickening googly eyes."

"Aww, poor Shep," more flashes as she teased her co-worker, "I'll tell ya, though, it's kinda cute. If it was human, I might be tempted to make googly eyes at it too."

They talked about him like he wasn't in the room and capable of understanding speech. Sam let the words wash over him and drifted closer to being disconnected. Shepard laughed heartily and Sam's body was suddenly turned over without warning, "Whatever, Ms Watt. I've seen you around kids—you'd sooner eat a baby than make any kind of eyes at it." He arranged Sam's arms against his sides and gave a warning squeeze to his wrist before removing his hands again. The camera clicked a few more times.

"Okay, that should be enough. We can take more later when he can stand if they're needed," she said.

"Let's get his weight real quick, then we can start." Shepard lifted Sam off the table and walked him over to a floor-scale in the far corner of the room. "Stay still," he ordered as he sat Sam down.

It took several seconds before he was able to keep upright without swaying. There was an intense pain building between his should blades where the muscles kept spasming. The best he could do was get his arms loosely crossed over his lap and hunch forward before he fell over. He didn't see the number that appeared, and Shepard didn't comment about it.

The man haphazardly scooped him up with one arm and brought him back to the kennel. For a heartbeat, Sam feared they would cuff him to the floor again and he started to struggle against the hold. "Hey!" Shepard barked in his ear and a brutal pinch twisted into the muscle of his right thigh, making him gasp. "You _cannot_ be this stupid."

Sam's body fell to the floor, sending jarring vibrations through his knees, and his arms instantly failed to support him. His face hit the cement and blood seeped warm from a busted lip. A dress shoe connected with his leg and sent him rolling into the bars. He curled into a protective ball as best he could with what felt like a broken leg and useless arms.

Shepard took a loud deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright, Samuel Winchester, tell me how you came to have grace." This was the voice of a professional interrogator who was confident in his own abilities. Silence fell in the room as Sam struggled to make sense of what was happening. Footsteps moved away then returned. "Sit up and open your eyes." He paused. "One...Two..." He never said 'three.' Instead, something whistled through the air and fire streaked across Sam's back from the right shoulder to his left hip. He didn't scream because he couldn't breathe around the pain searing past skin and muscle and bones to something deeper.

Spasms rippled along his spine as his grace reacted to the lash. Sam opened his eyes in search of what could inflict pain on more than just his physical body. Shepard towered over him holding a long, thin wooden rod. He stared as the man knelt down and ran his fingers along the branch's glossy surface.

"Beautiful, isn't she—a holy relic. It's made from the same Olive tree the dove plucked a leaf off of to give Noah as a sign of life after the Flood. A holy relic from a holy relic," he stood and paced around the cage, swinging the branch, "Did you know Olive oil is used to make holy oil? This piece in particular has been meticulously cared for with holy oil for over three thousand years. By the time it made its way into the Men of Letters' hands, it had many documented uses. One of them was its effectiveness in bringing stubborn angels to heel. I said _sit up!_ "

Sam cut off a cry through clenched teeth as a second strike landed straight across both shoulders. His body convulsed with another furious storm of grace. Slowly, he rolled onto his knees and leaned against the bars. He used the leverage to push himself up. Static sparked along his nervous system in growing distress. Straightening his back, Sam stared up at the man.

"Better," the man said in triumph, "Maybe you _can_ be trained. Let's try this again—tell me how you came to have grace?"

Sam's mind raced—how much _did_ the British Men of Letters know? They obviously knew about the grace and who all was living at the bunker. Did the woman who shot him realize Chuck's real identity?

A flurry of strikes left Sam scrambling against the bars to escape the feeling of fire. He bit through his already busted lip to keep from shrieking. The branch fell over the small of his back and a sob broke past his control.

"Five lashes for five seconds of disobedience. How long do you think you can hold out? Answer the question—how did you come to have grace?"

A second later, another lash landed on the side of his thigh. "Why?!" Sam finally yelled. The man paused and looked at Sam with smug fury.

Ms Watt sighed dramatically, "I'll get it ready." She walked past them to a door hidden in shadow that led to another room. That did not bode well.

Shepard shook his head slowly, then turned around and walked toward the exam table. Sam's eyes darted from the man's broad back, to the place Ms Watt disappeared, to the doorway that led to the garage. He didn't think about it. He ran. Lucifer taught him that—always take the chance to run.

Or he tried to run. The burst of adrenaline got him several steps before pain and numbness made him stumble. His leg gave out where Shepard had kicked him and he tumbled in a tangle of limbs. His fingers curled against the cement in frustration as tears blinded him.

"And where exactly did you think you were going?" Shepard's voice was deadly calm as it drew closer to where Sam lay huddled. "You realize that's two now."

 _Gabriel! Castiel! Please hear me!_ Sam prayed as hard as he could, screaming the words in his head as his hair was viciously twisted. He tried to reach up and grab hold of Shepard's hand to relieve the pressure when the man started dragging him back to the kennel. " **Gabriel! Cas! Find me. Please find! Find find find!** " he shouted in Enochian, unable to keep his prayer silent.

"There it is. That blasted tongue. Ugliest damn language I've ever heard," Shepard said conversationally, "You will learn my rules, little monster. You have no choice here." The man crouched down to Sam's level. "My lovely stick? She's just for training—a guide to mind your P's and Q's and keep ya on track. But now?" He grinned like a predator with a full show of teeth, "You disobeyed by refusing to answer while simultaneously questioning me. Then you tried to escape. That's two separate acts of defiance that each deserve their own punishment."

Shepard released his hair and picked up Sam's hands. Slipping the cuffs from the kidnapping out of his back pocket, the man secured both of Sam's wrists in front of him. With a tug, he brought the chain down to one of the floor's manacles and locked the metal band over the chain.

Sam stayed frozen in place, only moving his eyes to watch the man through his knotted curls. He took stock of his situation. Yes, he was naked and kneeling while his hands were again secured to the floor. But at least this time, he would have a much greater range of motion if they allowed him to stay this way through the night.

"Alright in here?" Ms Watt's voice emerged with her from the shadows. Sam turned to see her carrying a long garden hose that she gradually unwound from her arm as she moved into the room.

"You missed it," Shepard announced cheerfully, "He tried to do a runner."

"No!" she gasped, "Naked? Where the hell was it gonna go?

"Like a newborn colt trippin' on its own legs!" Shepard walked out of the cage, locked the barred door. He leaned against the bars, staring intensely at Sam. "You'd have probably taken a picture."

"I always miss the good stuff," she sulked, finally reaching him with several extra feet of hose to spare. Shaking out the coils, she handed him the end where a spray nozzle was attached. "Here—it's all ready to go."

"Thank you, Ms Watt." Shepard said without breaking eye-contact with Sam. "There's only one rule, Sam—unquestioning obedience. It means you obey without question. And if you break that rule, then I get to break you. So here is lesson number one."

Sam barely had time to shut his eyes and duck his head when it hit him. It was like being thrown through the icy surface of a pond and plunging breathlessly into freezing waters. He tried to get away from the blast but he was limited to a radius of a few feet by the cuffs. The water seemed directed primarily at his face at first, forcing the high-pressured flow to pour into his nose and mouth and ears no matter how he twisted his head. Eventually, Shepard seemed to grow bored of trying to drown Sam and spent the rest of the time pummeling every inch of his skin with the frigid spray.

By the time it was over, Sam's whole body was bright red from the temperature and force of the water. He coughed fluid up from his lungs that he'd accidentally inhaled. It had swirls of blood from his lip which he watched slowly drain away through a small grate. Shivers wracked his frame as he watched Ms Watt finished the task of coiling the hose back up.

"See you at dawn," Shepard called as he flipped the light on their way out, "Then I'll teach you what happens to mutts who try to run."

* * *

Sheriff Jody Mills pulled her truck up to the abandoned-looking building. If Dean Winchester hadn't described it perfectly and provided its exact GPS coordinates, she would have thought she was in the wrong place. She got out and stretched slowly, joints cracking and popping from staying in the same position too long. The six hour drive from Sioux Falls to middle-of-nowhere Kansas could have been pleasant if not for the cloud of tension following her the whole way.

Dean had been suspiciously vague over the phone about their apparent predicament. The only details he'd shared was that magic was keeping them locked inside their bunker. The false bravado, over-the-top charm, and too-loud laugh combined with Sam's fishy inability to come to the phone had been far more informative than any words passing Dean's lips. It told her something was very wrong.

With a sigh, Jody walked around the building's exterior. Her gaze swept over the ground all the way to the tree line looking for signs of foul play. The sunlight was already low in the sky, and they would be limited to flashlights if they had to find anything out here in an hour or so. She made her way to the back and stopped when she rounded the corner. It was clear that someone had been out here recently. The firepit held a roaring fire beside a blanket and pillows. Other than that, the clearing was void of any significant clues.

Continuing her trek, she circled back to where she'd started and pulled out her phone. "Dean, I'm here. I just..."

Dean cut her off, "Is there anyone out there with you?"

"No, I didn't see anyone out here. I walked all the way around your ugly-ass house. Although...were you having an early morning bonfire? Because you got one going pretty strong back there. Someone's obviously been keeping it going if you've been locked in there. It's been seven hours, right?"

"Don't worry about the fire—Gabe brought some kind of special logs that never burn up. But, yeah, Sam and Cas and Gabe like to...meditate, and brush each others' hair and shit. Sammy and Gabe were still outside when Cas got banished and we were put on lock-down."

"Who's Gabe?" she asked, peering closer at the front door. There didn't appear to be anything visible interfering with entering or exiting the building. And sadly there wasn't anything obvious like a giant sigil painted in blood to give her an idea of what had been used to seal it.

"He's...it's a long story, but he's like Cas." Dean's voice sounded strained.

"What, you mean like an angel? Or just socially awkward?" Jody teased before the words clicked in her head, "Wait! 'Gabe?' As in Gabriel the _archangel_?" she stood up straight in surprise.

"Well, someone remembers their Sunday school lessons. But yeah, he's Gabriel. He's a pain in the ass Trickster, but he's been helping us. And I don't mean we teamed up with him out for some desperate world's end kind of mission. He's kind of a friend now. God, this is so weird to try and explain over the phone!" She heard him growl in frustration.

"Calm down there, sport," Jody said using the same tone that worked on her girls when they got worked up. "We'll find them and you can tell me all the sordid details over beer and pizza." She hesitantly reached a hand to the door and held her breath as her fingers connected with the handle.

A shimmer rippled across the surface and then dissolved with a soft 'pop,' _Huh,_ she thought as the door swung open easily with a gentle tug.

Dean stood on the other side, red-faced and pacing along the banister. He stopped when the door opened and spun around to stare at her with his mouth gaping wide in shock. "Jody?" he whispered.

"Hey Dean," she smiled at the obviously stressed hunter, "I thought you said you were trapped? Did you try the doorknob?"

"Jody!" Dean threw his arms around her in relief and crushed her in a hug. "Am I glad to see you! And the outside...oh God, don't let the door shut!" He pushed her away and ran to keep the door open. "Can you grab that cinder block over there? That will hold it. Did it just open? Did anything happen?"

She raised her eyebrows at his frantic actions, but chalked it up to Sam being missing and helped the guy out. "When I touched it there was this light that flashed across the door and it sounded like something broke or snapped. I didn't feel anything though, and the door just opened." Once the door was secured, she followed him into the bunker. "You live here? In an underground bunker? You Winchesters..." she shook her head fondly as she took in the expansive space and easily pictured the boys in it, "So, what's this 'long story' you keep mentioning? I can't help you find Sam if I don't know what's going on..." her voice trailed off when she saw a woman sitting at the long table below the stairs. Jody shot Dean an unspoken question.

The woman stood, long blonde curls falling over her shoulders as she moved. Her eyes were red and swollen with dark circles that spoke of sleeplessness. She smiled and Jody's stomach clenched at how familiar that expression looked. "Hello," the woman said in a scratchy voice, "You must be Jody. Dean's told me so many good things about you."

"Oh, has he?" Jody looked pointedly at the hunter this time, "Well, don't be rude Dean! Introduce me to your friend."

"Yeah, that's, um..." he broke off, flustered if a completely different way than from Sam's disappearance. This was full of blushes and smiles and glances brimming with love toward the blonde. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Jody Mills, this is Mary...Winchester. My mom."

Jody snapped her head around, eyes wide and warring between excitement and fear. "Your _mom_? But I thought she...wasn't she..."

"Dead?" Mary answered with a smirk that was all Dean. Jody realized that the earlier, softer smile had been familiar because _it_ was all Sam.

"Yeah, dead," Jody said breathlessly before turning toward Dean but keeping Mary in her line of sight, "Dean? Why is your mother back from the dead? Is this a Winchester-thing? Because my experience with family members returning from the grave was a little more...horrifying."

Dean's pleased fluster fell immediately and he stepped closer to Jody. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he turned serious, "I'm sorry, Jody. I shouldn't have...You're right, that was horrifying. But I ran the basic tests when I found her. She was brought back by God's sister almost two weeks ago, so it's legit."

Jody searched his face for any deception, then turned her focus on Mary. There was only sincerity and exhaustion and anxiety. She gave the other Winchester a nod and Mary gave the softer smile again. "God's sister, huh? Let me guess—another long story?"

"The longest," Dean huffed and led them to the kitchen. He put on a pot of coffee and they sat at the table waiting for it to finish. "I don't even know where to start. Part of me was hoping Sam was just hiding in the woods if he wasn't waiting by the door. But he would have hunkered down somewhere with a clear line of sight and come out when you got here."

"Do you think he was taken by whoever did the banishing?" Jody asked.

Dean scoffed angrily, "If the spell didn't get him too."

"I thought angel banishing didn't hurt humans. Was this different?" It was obvious she was missing some big pieces of this picture.

"Well, the banishing was on a level we've never seen. Powerful beyond belief if it was capable of reaching into the bunker. But I'm more worried because Same is different."

"Different how?"

"Long story short? Amara brought my mom back to life as a gift for me getting her and God back on speaking terms. God decided to help Sam out by healing his soul with His grace. But it changed Sam—made him part angel, or like a baby angel or something. I don't know all the details, but the process changed him physically and now adult-Sam's mind is in a six-year-old-Sammy's body lost out there somewhere."

"Wow," Jody stood and retrieved the full coffee pot, grabbing mugs from the stack on her way back to the table. She saw Mary doing the same with cream and sugar. "Wow! You boys, I swear to God I am going to lock you both in a padded cell with helmets. And maybe wrist, shin, elbow, and knee pads too. How do you two manage to get into so much trouble on such a regular basis?"

"Don't look at me," Mary said as she fixed her mug, "I've been dead. But they've caught me up some of their adventures and I'd probably help you. I think a trail of beer bottles and pie would be all you need to get this one to willingly walk in."

"Yeah, Sam's too calculated. He'd need more effort," Jody smiled at her new ally.

Dean cut in. "But we have to find him before you can wrap us in bubble wrap. So any ideas?"

"Let me make some calls," Jody said as she sipped her coffee and pulled out her cell phone, "I've made some good friends within the hunting community these past few years. Dependable, trustworthy people who are good at thinking outside of the box. You'll like them—they're siblings too."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES**

WHEW! That was a big'un!  
Tell me what y'all think...should I be running?  
I should be running, shouldn't I...

*running*  
*trips over 12 cats, 7 video game controllers, 5 guitars, and lands in a pile of clean but unfolded laundry*  
*all of which are legitimately in my house*

I'll just wait here then.

 **QUICK AUTHOR'S RANT ABOUT SLEEPLESS AUTHORS NOT SLEEPING BECAUSE THEY ARE RANTING ABOUT BEING A SLEEPLESS AUTHOR:**  
I really hope that this path I'm on where each new story's chapters keep growing in word count does not continue. Otherwise, I'll be writing 10-15,000 word chapters three stories down the line...that's not even a joke.  
And I will sleep less than all the no sleep I am currently sleeping!  
OMG, INTPAquarius, you may be right. I may have no soul...

 **Sidenote** : I am not a scientist. Some of the sciency things I researched as best I could...things like the closest galaxies to the Milky Way, and what forms a commet, and ancient sacred trees, and conversion charts. But when it came to physics, I made it all up. If you tell me that there's no way for an angel to fly blah blah blah by the blah because blah, I'm going to tell you angels don't really exist. Not because I don't believe in angels, but because I'm embracing my evil side.


	15. The Valley of the Shadow pt 3

**TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains cannon-level violence against a little halo...**

* * *

 **THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW  
** **PART 3: IN THE PRESENCE OF MINE ENEMIES**

Mary felt lost. And because she felt lost, she was doing the one thing she felt capable of handling—making the coffee. So while the others were utilizing the war table for its intended purpose, she hung back in the kitchen and stared at the black liquid slowly dripping into the well-used pot.

Technology today was so beyond her imagination. The boys had shown her a few things like how to use the Google and helped her set up an 'E-mail' account even though she had no one except them to communicate with. They insisted it was necessary for 'other accounts' so she acquiesced, but she honestly had no idea what 'other accounts' she would need.

So when Dean and Jody started discussing what systems to hack to find Sam, Mary wandered off with the excuse of making coffee. She sighed and rubbed her temples to ease the forming tension headache. Her mind kept racing with the checklist of things they would do in her day as a hunter. People to call, walking door-to-door to find witnesses, driving to libraries and local government offices to do research—today, all those steps were replaced by a single machine that could be used anywhere. And there was no time right now for anyone to teach her. Not with Sam and the angels having been missing for...what time _was_ it? She checked the microwave clock—they'd been missing for twelve hours.

"How are you doing?" Jody's voice broke through her thoughts and Mary startled The sheriff smiled kindly just like she probably did all the time for families with missing kids, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Thought you heard me come in."

"It's okay. I was just lost in thought," Mary shrugged and tried to smile back.

"You don't have to pretend," Jody said.

"Excuse me?" Mary said defensively. She felt anger flare in her belly and she didn't even know why.

Jody paused, studying her, then patted the back of a chair at the table. "It's okay to not be okay. It's okay to be angry or scared when our kids and loved ones are in danger."

Slowly, Mary walked to the table and sat down. The sheriff went and poured two mugs before joining her. Taking the offered cup, Mary frowned, "I appreciate it." She didn't know what else to say.

"Did Dean tell you how I got started with hunting?" Jody asked, taking a sip of her drink.

"Uh, no, he didn't," Mary answered, now confused as to where this was going.

"My son died—Owen. Just a little guy. He got cancer when he was six, and fought it for a couple years before his body gave out. Then he came back."

Mary's head flew up, "What?"

"About twenty people were brought back from the dead in our town several years ago. At first, it felt like a miracle. Then they all started turning into these aggressive, hungry creatures. My little boy...ate and killed my husband Sean. Your boys saved my life, and the life of almost everyone else in this town."

"Oh God, that...that's awful! I'm so sorry, to lose your family..." Mary shook her head, amazed when Jody was still able to smile.

Jody acknowledged the sentiment with a nod of genuine gratitude, "I know you and I don't necessarily have similar situations, but I know what it's like to lose a child and husband. And it has been the hardest lesson to learn."

Mary blinked rapidly and pushed her cup to the side. "What did you do?"

Jody thought about her answer, "I was alone for the first time in my life, and part of my lesson was learning who I was separate from other people. I grieved. I learned everything I could about the supernatural world. I worked a lot of overtime," she leaned forward and covered Mary's clenched hands with her own, "And I've since learned how to love a new family. I adopted two wayward teenage girls, both of whom I have thanks to Sam and Dean. All of them gave me a purpose I didn't know I needed. One that I thought I'd lost with my son and husband.

"How..." Mary cleared her tight throat, "How did you do it?"

Jody squeezed her hand, "I realized that I needed those girls as much as they needed me. They aren't replacing Owen and Sean. I never got to change their diapers or read to them or rock them to sleep, but I love them for who they are now. I meet them where they're at, and they do the same for me. Baggage and all—and believe me, we all came with more baggage than I thought possible. We're still unpacking it."

"It's been hard...these past couple weeks," Mary admitted quietly, "Dean is so different from the little boy I remember. He's harder than most hunters I've known—even harder than John after Vietnam. But then I'll see him with Sammy or he'll rush to do something for me with this big goofy grin and he is just as soft and tender as he was the day I died."

Jody leaned back, grinning. She took her hand away to pick up her drink, "Believe me, that's nothing new. Dean's been that way with Sam since I've known them. Well, there were a few times when they went through some rough patches..." she tilted her head and stared in the distance for a moment before shaking the memory away, "But I've never seen someone as protective as Dean is of Sam. I'm actually surprised he isn't tearing the bunker apart just for something to do."

"He tried to bust us out with an ax for forty-five minutes before calling you."

"There we go. That sound's more like him," Jody laughed.

"I see that side of him and I _know_ he's Dean—my Dean who used to crawl into Sammy's crib or sit with me in the kitchen after I'd fought with John. He's always looked out for others. But Sammy is different," Mary's voice broke with tears that hit her suddenly. She looked at Jody and saw only understanding and empathy—a fellow mother who knows loss. "I was still lactating when I died, and I keep expecting to feel milk and there's _none!_ "

Jody stood and came around to sit next to Mary. She wrapped an arm around crying woman and sat quietly while she spoke, offering her presence for comfort and strength.

"And I _do_ love this Sammy—he's a beautiful boy who has been broken so many times that I just want to hold him constantly and never let go. Sometimes, I worry that I've replaced my baby with a new one, which then makes me wonder if I _can_ replace someone with the same exact person, so I don't know..." her breath hitched, "We were just learning how to be a family, I think. Me, the boys, and the angels—all of us were suddenly thrown together but it was good. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose _him_ again. I can't."

"Then I guess we better find him, yeah?" Jody said with an encouraging determination. Mary nodded, grateful someone understood. "Come on, let's get some of this coffee to Dean. I can show you what I'm doing on the computer. It takes almost no effort or time to find the video databases, but we need an extra pair of eyes looking through the footage."

"I can definitely do that," Mary finally gave a real smile and felt something unclench in her chest—the grip of helplessness that had been growing tighter for hours. She went to prepare Dean a coffee with more optimism.

"Good," Jody nodded, "The twins will be here soon. We lucked out on them being in our general vicinity. They are powerhouses of information and ability."

"Oh yeah? How did you meet them?"

"In passing. They came through town and we're mutual friends with another hunter who told them about me. We had coffee and traded stories. Oh boy do they have some stories. Not all hunting related either."

"Hunters always lead outlandish lives. Most have trouble fitting into the rest of society."

"True, but these two are special. Their mom was a witch—the good kind, who didn't get her abilities from a demon deal. She trained them in magic and how to hunt the 'bad' witches. Max thinks he knows a locating spell that would help us find Sam. And they're making calls to all their contacts as they drive here for info and ideas. The word is going out that a Winchester is in trouble. Most I know in the hunting community would jump at the chance to help. Not all of them, but most. And the twins know which ones not to call. Hopefully, it's enough."

"Thank you, Jody," Mary said as she brought a tray with all their stuff on it over toward the sheriff, "You've done so much for us—driving here from South Dakota, and calling in people who can help, and listening to me. Just...thank you."

"Anytime, Mary," Jody smiled, "I know it can get a little male-heavy around here, so if you ever need another woman to talk to you just call me. Or better yet, make those boys bring you up to my neck of the woods and let me cook you dinner. You can meet my girls, and they've been dying to see the boys again. And make sure you bring Cas with you, okay? Claire's been asking about him."

"Claire is one of your girls? And she's friends with Castiel?" Mary asked, wondering at the angel's connection.

"Cas is...well, he's kinda wearing her father's body. Jimmy Novak was Castiel's vessel. But Jimmy's dead and Claire's mother died a couple years ago. It's a long story."

Mary stared at the sheriff, "You know, I hear that phrase a lot these days."

* * *

Dean stabbed at the computer keys as though intimidation would magically make it reveal Sam's hidden location. He glanced over to where the others were working. Jody and Mary were side-by-side on separate computers, combing through footage of traffic cameras. Whatever happened in the kitchen had changed something between the two women—but Dean wasn't about to ask. He was just glad to see two people important to him getting along.

Jody's hunter friends were scheduled to arrive within the hour and Dean was hoping to have _something_ to go by when they got here. Any hint of Sam and the angels' whereabouts would feel like a victory at this point. In twelve hours, they had only succeeded at opening the front door. Not quite celebratory when his brother wasn't waiting on the other side.

Dean needed to talk to Sam—needed Sam to be okay and come back because there was too much still unsaid between them. His conversation with Castiel that morning kept echoing in his brain while he glared at the unhelpful computer screen. That _thing_ Castiel did still made his skin feel like it was crawling and he fought the newly-constant urge to shower. _This is how Sam has felt for two years. Longer, if he was like this after the cage._

And that shook him to the core. Sam Winchester was Dean's number-one subject in life. He knew how the kid operated and how his mind worked. They had whole systems of communicating that depended on Dean knowing these things. He knows all those things only understood by big brothers _and_ mothers. And if nothing else, Dean usually knew what the kid needed, even if he didn't understand _why._

For Sam to function so well while experiencing that level of terror means Dean missed something enormous. When had he stopped being able to read Sam? He'd felt more in tune to his brother since the kid was pocket-sized again, and he thought it was because they had grown so much closer after the year battling the Darkness. What if Sam just wasn't able to hide things anymore? Why had it taken Castiel spelling things out for him and using his angel-mojo before Dean could understand? And _where_ was Sam when Dean was mid-way through the biggest revelation of his life?

"Careful there, mister. That computer never did anything to you," Jody's voice drew his gaze and he saw both women staring at him in concern.

"Sorry," he said gruffly and frowned back at his screen, "I'm not finding squat and I really want to shoot someone."

"Yes, but if you damage Sam's laptop, he's going to really want to shoot _you_ when he gets back," Jody reminded him.

Dean cringed, "Point taken. Any luck on your end?"

"Nothing," Mary answered, "There aren't any cameras stationed near our area of the road. The closest is just outside town and there's no guarantee they went that way. Or that they even traveled by car."

"Let's go over your list of suspects again," Jody said, "Sometimes it helps to talk through them a few times to find something you've missed."

"We've got a lot of enemies floating around out there," Dean started, stretching back in his chair, "Lucifer is probably the biggest, but I don't think he can do an angel-banishment without knocking himself out of the picture. Crowley's been on good-ish terms with us lately. I mean, he joined Team Chuck for last month's apocalypse. Plus, he loves the chance to brag. We would have definitely heard from him by now. Rowena is too much about self-preservation to chance coming after us. And I don't think the Book of the Damned included a banishment like this—or she didn't mention it when we were coming up with ways to defeat Amara."

"There's also the Englishwoman who shot Sam," Mary added.

"Right, what do we know about her?" Jody asked as she made notes.

"We know the British Men of Letters are a bunch of pricks who think Sam and I should be tried for sins against humanity, or some other bullshit." Dean growled, remembering the pool of Sam's blood on the floor just a few feet away. "She didn't get a chance to tell him anything else after Chuck showed up. We've looked through a bunch of the bunker's old records but all we could find was some old letter from the 1930s that was mostly blacked out. Nothing helpful except it confirmed that there _was_ a British Men of Letters chapter."

"Have you ever heard of supernatural activities in Britain?" Jody looked up from her notes to frown at Dean, "Because I haven't. I've been following stories of hunters around the globe, but none of them come out of Great Britain."

"No, I don't think so. But Sam would be the one to ask—he likes to keep up with stuff like that, which doesn't help us now." Dean took a gulp of cold coffee, wincing at the taste.

"Well, we know that they are knowledgeable enough to banish an angel and get into your bunker. They must have had a plan if they were ordered to bring you in. A well-funded plan if they can travel internationally." Jody stood up and started pacing, "I mean, look at this place! It was abandoned decades ago, but the Brits didn't have Abaddon to wipe them out or a dozen apocalypses to hurt their numbers. A generational secret society with all _this_ at their fingertips must have massive wealth and power at their fingertips."

"You think they might show up on the books somewhere?" Dean felt a thrill of excitement.

"I think we should check private and public international flights to Britain and see if anyone's taking a child passenger. And we may want to see if anyone's recently rented or sold local property to people with British accents. If it is these people, and if they did stay somewhat close by, and _if_ they warded their location, it may be possible for the twins to find them. They know how to search for wards instead of an object or person." Jody pulled out her phone, presumably texting the twins about the idea.

"Unconventional," Mary commented.

Dean just grinned, "I like it."

* * *

Sam knew he was dying. His body had stopped shivering a while ago, and his skin felt inhumanly cold to his own touch. Exhaustion made him want to fall asleep until he either miraculously woke up in his own bed, or faded into the great nothingness Billie had promised him. If she was kind, she wouldn't take the time to tell him before delivering him to the beyond.

But his grace wouldn't allow him to fall asleep as the night dragged on. It rolled through his body, an angry tempest that scraped his insides raw. He saw small sparks light up along his arms once in a while and felt the jolt whenever one hit the shallow pool of water he laid in. His spine felt like it was breaking from the constant spasms that twisted with each breath.

Sam wondered what would happen if his grace continued to build unchecked. Would he explode? Or burn up from within? Whatever it was, Sam just wished it would happen soon. The collar felt hot against his freezing skin and he'd tried to unlatch it until his fingers bled. Not that he really knew how to use his grace for defense or fighting, but he'd do anything to relieve the storm of destruction.

The Olive branch was a tool unlike anything Sam had ever experienced. Of course, he hadn't been tortured in the two weeks he'd had grace and a tiny body. _Two weeks—must be a new record,_ Sam though as he groaned and shifted on the ground. The lash marks had mostly faded from the skin Sam could see. Underneath, however, he could feel each place like a brand. The pain came from his grace instead of his skin and muscles. It was like a mild, but ongoing, soul-grabbing. The kind of experience that usually required being held down and biting on belts.

The muscles around his shoulder blades twisted violently and he arched off the floor, muffling a scream through clenched teeth. It felt like his spine was trying to snap through his skin. The pain was confusing—was it part of his grace's reaction or from having his arms tied in terrible positions for so long? He had never felt like this in his countless times being restrained.

 _I can do this_ , he told himself even while another internal voice told him he was lying. _I've survived three decades of Heaven and Hell's manipulations, centuries of torture at the angry hands of two archangels, and being raised by John and Dean Winchester. I can do this..._

Curling into a ball on his side, Sam tried to breathe and not break before dawn.

* * *

Alicia and Max Banes were unlike anything Dean expected.

He had worked with other hunters on occasion. Most were gruff men, older than their ages who led relatively short and solitary lives. Hunters who worked in pairs or groups usually lived longer—the burden of survival was easier when shared. But none of them were like these witch-twins.

They were sassy and smooth, completely in sync with each others' words and movements. It reminded him of how he and Sam were together in the days before Stanford. All easy-going humor and silent speech. Both wore simple black outfits that allowed their skin to glow—the sister golden bronze to her brother's darker russet. A black utility bag hung from their outside shoulder.

They walked down the stairwell side-by-side with identical expressions of astonishment.

"You live here?" they asked at the same time.

Dean cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with their electric elegance. "Yup!" he answered in a decidedly inelegant way, "Welcome to the Men of Letters, American edition. I'm Dean Winchester. This is my mom, Mary. I can't thank you enough for helping us." He stepped forward to shake their hands.

The young woman descended the last few steps, her long chestnut curls swinging as she met him with a brilliant smile and firm grip. "Alicia Banes. I hope you'll give us a chance to explore this place sometime. I've never felt so much magic in one place."

"Yeah, absolutely," Dean said, nodding. He'd probably give them the bunker if it meant getting Sammy home safely.

"Careful there, pretty boy," Max said as he joined them. His green eyes shone bold and warm. "She'll be moved in by the weekend." A shudder rolled though the young man's body in a way that was almost indecent, "Of course, I might just move in too. She's right—this place is _vibrating_." He shook Dean's hand as firmly as his sister, "I'm Max."

"Awesome," Dean said feeling tongue-tied around the two. He cleared his throat...again. "So what all do you need? We've got a fully-stocked storeroom of supplies for rituals and spells, and all the research books available on the North American continent."

"Actually, we only need something of Sam's—a hairbrush would be perfect if he has one." Alicia said as she swung her bag onto the war table and started unpacking herbs and tools.

"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem," Dean said over his shoulder, already moving to retrieve the item. It was easy to find. Studying it on the way back to the war room, he found several hairs of varying lengths. Frowning as he rejoined the others, he asked, "Um, does it matter if..." he cut off, unsure how to phrase the question.

"Does it matter if what, sugar?" Max asked.

"Sammy, he was changed a couple weeks ago. A...thing...happened, and God changed him with grace, and Sam's kind of an angel-kid now. Will it matter if the hair is from before the change? Because there are a lot of hairs in this brush and I don't want to fuck this up by choosing the wrong one."

"Woooow," the twins said in unison.

"Sam is an angel?" Alicia asked.

"God made Sam an angel?" Max added.

"A _thing_ happened?" they ended together with mirror expressions of ridiculousness.

Dean stared unblinking, "How are you doing that?"

Jody slapped him on the shoulder, jarring him from his shock. "Ha! Like you and Sam don't do the same damn thing."

"We do not!" he sputtered, "Whatever, yes, yes, and _yes_. Sam's soul was damaged and God used His grace to fix it and it made Sam a tiny kid with a lot of power. Like, a _lot_. 'Littlest Archangel' amounts of power and I swear to that God if any of you tells Sammy I called him that I will lock you in our dungeon."

"In your what?" four voices said at once and Dean took a step back at the sudden surround-sound. Everyone was staring at him with looks ranging from shocked to scandalized to intrigued.

"Well, _that_ wasn't in the 'Welcome to the Bunker' tour," Mary said wryly.

Max strode forward and eased the hairbrush from Dean's white-knuckle grip. "I want you to explain what you know about grace to Alicia so we can make adjustments. Me and Mamma Mary are gonna sort through these hairs. We won't need much to make this work."

Dean glanced at his mother who looked pale but steady. She met his gaze with a smile and gave a reassuring nod. He returned it and felt some of the day's tension trickle away. It felt good to do something.

* * *

Max Bane had heard many stories about the fabled Winchester brothers. They were legends among hunters everywhere—the Righteous Man who became a Knight of Hell, and Lucifer's blood-addicted vessel who conquered the devil to save the world. They were forces of destruction and salvation and myth. As the son of a witch and hunter, and the brother of a twin sister with whom he was of one thought and spirit, he knew what it was like for people to tell stories based on a single, detail-free fact. People were idiots.

He had felt the magical energies of the bunker over a mile before they physically saw it. Ancient spells were laid out through the building and grounds, overlapped by newer and more powerful wards. Angelic grace saturated the air, the scent of ozone after a thunderstorm blending with leather and old paper. It was like walking over subway grates, never knowing when a gust of hot air would take you by surprise. Or maybe a gauntlet of perfume-wielding kiosk workers.

The twins' empathic abilities immediately picked up on the overwhelming tension and emotional stress of both Dean and Mary. Being raised by a woke witch-woman combined with growing up in the pocket of a psychic twin meant Max was well versed in healthy boundaries and communication. Being a hunter meant he could put those skills to constant use within a community famous for their emotional illiteracy. And sometimes he got to use them to soothe a lost mamma's longing for her missing child.

He sent Jody a mental 'thank-you' for updating them on the situation here before they arrived. Context was important—knowing that Mary was the newly-resurrected Winchester mother was vital. Sidling up beside the sad woman, he said, "Hey there, beautiful. I bet that the kitchen here has better lighting than this cavern. What do you say we go there to sort through these and I can make you my mamma's favorite kind of coffee." She looked drained and discouraged, but she nodded with a smile anyway.

"Max," Alicia's voice rose in warning. ' _I know you're up to something._ '

"Sister, don't test me. I know you're a granny's girl. Black and bourbon," he called back. ' _I hear you. Now, trust me._ '

"Make it strong. The coffee, not the bourbon!" her voice followed them into the hallway. ' _Go for it. Don't get drunk.'_ Born three minutes before him and she acts with all the authority of an oldest sibling. Typical.

Mary led the way down a dark hallway to their spacious kitchen area. "Nice system," he said, impressed, as he gestured toward the flawlessly installed speakers.

"Thanks," she said with a laugh, "I don't think any of us know how to use them. Gabriel put them there when he first arrived and usually just snaps his fingers to control the music."

"Sounds like having an archangel around keeps life interesting." He saw her head toward the coffee area, so he redirected her to the table. Seeing the multi-colored surface, he snagged a roll of paper towels and laid them out in front of her. "Now, I want you to sort through what you can. Focus on what you know Sam's hair looks and feels like and put everything else to the side. We really only need one strand."

Mary's hand shook as she took the brush from him. "I...I don't know if I can do this," she said in a small voice.

Max crouched down next to her with a hand on her shoulder, "And what makes you think that?"

"Dean knew Sam was physically six _and a half_ based on his hair alone. I've only known Sammy for a couple weeks. What if I get it wrong?"

He smiled and went around to sit opposite of her. "Close your eyes, mamma."

She gave him a look somewhere between doubtful and suspicious, but did as he asked. "Okay, now what?"

Reaching across the table, he pressed her hands flat on the surface, palms down, and covered them with his own. "I want you to picture Sam as you've known him here. Can you describe him to me?" his voice was smooth and slow.

Mary took a deep breath and nodded, keeping her eyes shut, "First time I saw him, I didn't know who he was. Dean had just found me wandering in a graveyard and brought me here to the bunker. There was a pool of blood on the floor and the sound of metal clattering down the hall. He was standing there—this little boy, barely past the toddler-stage, standing barefoot with an adult's t-shirt hanging off his shoulder. Giant hazel eyes full of fear. I was so worried I'd made a mistake trusting Dean. I mean, who keeps a baby like that half-naked in a bunker? Didn't take long to figure out what had happened."

Max slid his hands off of hers and picked up the brush, carefully extracting the mess of strands from the bristles. He laid them out on the white paper. "What does his hair look like?"

"A mess of curls bouncing everywhere when he moves. They tighten into ringlets after it's been washed, and when it dries the hair is soft as silk," she sighed wistfully, "Sunlight makes the dark brown look more auburn. It hangs an inch or two past his ears, depending on how you measure. The curls hide a lot of length."

"Open your eyes," Max said and watched her blink in the cheerful kitchen light. "Now, you take a look at those hairs, and if you don't recognize it put it aside. Made a few piles if you get some 'maybes.' I'm gonna go over here and make myself at home. I think you'll like my mamma's coffee."

Mary stared at the piles of hair. Hesitantly, her fingers traced over some of them. "Oh," she said, a hint of surprise and joy in the sound. Soon, she was sorting through at a steady pace. Max was proud to see there were only two piles.

He pulled a bag of coffee grounds from his bag—his own personal stash of Hawaiian ambrosia. Setting it to brew, he pulled out the other two secret ingredients. Bulleit Bourbon for Alicia. If he was reading the man right (and he was an excellent reader of men) then Dean would probably side with her on their adult coffee preference. But Max suspected that he and Mary were more like his own mother. They liked things a little sweeter. Emergencies and celebrations both called for Bailey's Irish Cream. Besides, Alicia was right, gods and goddesses damn her—they can't afford to get drunk while gearing up a rescue.

Pouring their drinks, he waved a hand over them to stir them with a small push of his magic. The speakers suddenly sprang to life with the intro riffs of Donovan's _Season of the Witch_. The song rocked through the bunker at party-volume.

"Well, that's a little rude, but clever," Max said with a roll of his eyes.

"What is that? Did you find a remote?" Mary asked, her hand clutching at her chest in surprise.

Before he could answer, Dean barreled into the kitchen, gun at the ready. "Is it Gabriel?" he asked breathlessly, gaze sweeping over the room for any new occupants.

"Whoa! Easy there, man. It was me," Max said with his hands up, "I used a bit of juice to stir the drinks and must have set off a magic detector."

Dean stilled, listening to the song, and it clicked. "Damn it, Gabe! I told him we didn't need musically coded alarms!" Exhaling noisily, he plopped down next to his mother. "How's it going?" he asked, leaning over to see her progress, "Oh man, that looks like a mess. How are you doing that? I couldn't see the differences when they were clumped together, but you totally got it. How does such a little kid have shed that much hair in such a short time?"

"You shed a lot too," Mary mused as she continued sorting. She already had a good-sized pile of curly strands separated from the unfamiliar longer straight pieces.

"I did?" Dean asked, hand going to his hair as though worried it might fall out any second.

"I was always amazed by how much you'd leave behind after baths," she smiled in a way that told Max that the blush on Dean's cheeks was the effect she was going for. "How are things on your end? Does Alicia have what she needs?"

Max brought their drinks over. Dean nodded a thanks and took his before answering, "Yes, which is good because we are all out of angel-retrievers to send for rare items," he paused his exasperated rant to take a drink and his eyes grew enormous, "Holy crap! You are awesome!"

"That's what they all say," Max replied, playfully flippant. Grabbing up his sister's cup lest she murder him and handing Jody's to Dean, he gestured toward the door, "Come on, folks. Let's go make some magic."

They formed two plans. The first was a location spell for Sam himself using his hair. If that failed, they had a revealing spell to find areas with high-concentrations of magics. If neither worked then the witch-hunters would be set loose on the library's magic section.

The twins moved like dancers, arranging ingredients and drawing symbols across a white cloth spread out on the floor. Alicia placed a large map of Kansas and the surrounding states in the center. The simple ritual began at midnight—a call-and-response chant that ended in unison, a lit match thrown into a bowl containing several things including Sam's hair, and a careful toss that spread the flaming mixture across the map. They all stood in silence, holding their breath and watching the as the fire instantly extinguished on contact with any surface except one—a single spark burned a perfect tiny hole on the map.

"I think we found your lost boy," Max said with a grin.

"Jody!" Dean bellowed.

"I'm right here, Dean. I see it. Just outside Winfield." Jody was already bringing information on her phone as they raced to get started.

Max worked some with Jody and Alicia on figuring out the exact location burned into the map but left them to hacking whatever systems it took to get an address. Instead, he studied what was used to seal the bunker. There was residue of a complex sigil that glowed when he ran energy over it. It appeared to be designed to break when touched. Perhaps whoever left it believed the Winchesters didn't have allies close enough to free them in time to prevent anything. It was a chilling thought.

He gently nudged Dean to have Mary help him collect supplies and weapons for everyone. It was the right suggestion to make—the woman turned out more knowledgeable than her son realized. She came back dressed as a hunter and strapped with enough blades and guns to be an assassin. Dean kept shooting her nervous looks. Good. It was healthy for a man to be nervous of a strong, furious, armed woman.

Research found a third party person had bought the property situated out in the middle of several large farms. It was an old closed-down animal hospital. A good amount of land and privacy for days was perfect for an invading secret society. Alicia did a remote viewing session and confirmed that the area was bursting with magic.

By three-thirty in the morning, everything was ready. They loaded up in two cars—the Winchesters in the sexiest black Impala Max had ever seen, and the twins with Jody in their Jeep. Their GPS put their arrival in just under three hours. Watching the Impala peel onto the road and quickly rocket to full speeds, Max decided to shave a few minutes off the computer's estimation.

* * *

"Rise and shine!" Shepard sang as he flipped the switch and suddenly filled the room with harsh florescent lights.

"Oi! Shep, it ain't doin' too good." Ms Watt's said, moving up to the bars for a closer look.

Sam stared up at her through half-lidded eyes. Nothing he'd done through the night would relieve the pain in his back and bones. Thoughts of rescue had dwindled to the occasional daydream, but the escape was a fantasy to distract from a reality consisting once again of bars, pain, and ice.

"Nah, I've seen what a halo's capable of surviving. I bet you his temp is twenty-six degrees right now, and he's still conscious. We'll let him warm back up a bit first, and he'll be right as rain." Shepard grabbed a large blanket and shook it out over the exam table.

"Yeah, but his eyes are glowing all bright and weird," she insisted.

"Oh? What color?" he called, opening the laptop.

"I dunno. White with, like, sparks of violet. It reminds me of those plasma globes in science class." The sound of Shepard typing followed her description for a minute.

Joining Ms Watt at the cage, he unlocked the door. "I've never seen one do that so quickly," he crouched down and turned Sam's face up to get a better look. Sam didn't have the energy to pull away.

"Do what? Glow?"

"Yeah. Only saw it happen once, and it was on a halo we'd had collared for a year. He got beat bloody all the time, and it took thirteen months for his grace to react."

"What, so it's a freak even for an angel?" Ms Watt looked amused, and Sam tried not to flinch at the word _freak_.

"Seems like it, yeah." The man's body shuddered when he gathered Sam into his arms, "Jesus, it's like touching a bloody zombie."

"Creepy," Ms Watt said from behind them.

Sam felt himself be set down on top of the blanket and shut his eyes against the harsh lights in his face. His back spasmed against the table, arching to get his own weight off the areas in agony. A whine worked its way through his throat as Shepard and Ms Watt both grabbed hold to keep him from bucking off the table.

"Whoa there! What's got you doing that now? Surely you aren't hurting this bad after a few licks of a little stick," Shepard's voice was oddly soothing as hands turned Sam on his side so the man could see his back. "Some bruising from where he hit the bars, but nothing from the branch. Get some pictures and I'll take his vitals. Then we'll get him warmed up and take another look."

They rolled him onto his stomach and he felt the camera flash behind closed eyelids. "What's its back doing?" Ms Watt asked sounding horrified and Sam's gut clenched in new fear. He couldn't see his back, but he know something was wrong.

"Where?"

"Right here," she didn't touch him so Sam didn't know where she pointed, but he could guess, "It looks like something's moving under his skin. Is that the muscle?"

A large hand pressed between Sam's shoulder blades and he screamed as he tried to burrow down through the table. It felt like broken glass was slowly shattering under the increased pressure. "No, it's not his muscles—they don't move like that. I'm not sure what this is, but it feels like...liquid. And it's twisting _between_ his skin and spine, not just along side it." The hand moved away and it took a few minutes before Sam could breathe without gagging.

They took his vitals while he struggled to regain his equilibrium. Then, soft fabric moved up his legs and Sam sobbed with relief at the return of his pajama pants. An adult-sized shirt was pulled over his head and they moved his arms and torso to quickly get it situated. Another blanket, heavy and heated, was laid across his body.

"Ugh, I'm gonna have to wash my hands after this," Ms Watt mumbled loud enough for Sam to hear before addressing Shepard, "I thought Sam Winchester survived some ungodly amount of time under Lucifer and Michael in Hell. Shouldn't he be...well, tougher?"

"Don't know about tougher. Human Sam seemed pretty broken from what I read. Spent time in a mental ward for extreme hallucinations and insomnia. And our reports say he went _back_ to the cage this year to get Lucifer's help. Like the girl that keeps going back for more, right?" he chuckled at his own joke and Sam started dry heaving.

 _That's not what happened. I'm not..._ his thoughts spiraled with all the things he wanted to not be. _Not the victim who returned. Not broken. Not a freak._ The feeling of pins and needles formed along his skin from the heated blanket and his body immediately began to shiver. Emotions teetered on the edge of overwhelming Sam's senses. Since the change, it seemed like his emotional control had been stripped. Everything he felt was right on the surface, refusing to be buried or pushed aside.

Sam didn't know if the collar had muted that or if the pain and shock had allowed him to disconnect at first, but the reprieve of emotional disassociation appeared to be over. As his body thawed, so did his mind. Images playing past his closed eyes—waking up in the ice bath during the trials, Lucifer solidifying the blood in his veins with a touch, a time when he and Dean were huddled in the woods as kids on a winter hunt. Each one brought a different kind of terror and it left him drifting between the past and present.

Shepard continued to check Sam's temperature and once it was deemed high enough again, they removed the heated blanket and sat him up. "Okay, boy-o, let's talk," Shepard said as he moved to stand directly in front of where Sam sat with his legs hanging over the table's side. "Have you learned last nights lesson, then?"

Sam stared into the pale blue eyes and nodded.

"And what was the lesson you learned?" Shepard asked like a long-suffering mentor reviewing a lecture with his pupil.

Sam opened his mouth, but no sound came out right away. He tried to slow his breathing and work up enough spit to make his throat cooperate. Eventually, he croaked out, "To...listen."

"Not just listen," Shepard pushed with a frown.

Sam swallowed some more and dropped his eyes to his knees. He hated himself for even pretending to submit for the sake of survival. "Obey," he whispered, throat too raw for speech, "No questions."

"Good boy," the man praised and ruffled Sam's hair. "And what is the lesson you are going to learn this morning?"

His eyes went back up to the man, wide with surprise. They had just spent over an hour to bring his body temperature back up and given him clothes, only to turn around and punish him again? Why? Mind turning with questions, Sam stared in disbelief.

"I told you, Sam. You are here to learn and be useful. If you die in the process, that would be regrettable, but no one would mourn your passing." Shepard took Sam's jaw in his hand and brought his face closer. "Do you think we left the rest of them alive at the bunker? Leave the man who bore the Mark of Cain and the thing wearing your dead mother's body? And you will never again see the archangel or your brother's blue-eyed pet. This is your life now. When we've deemed you safe to transport, you'll be returning with us to Britain for further training and tests. If you wanted different treatment, you should have gone willingly with Toni while you were still human. But you will start to learn consequences here and now. So, one more chance to answer before I go get my Olive branch."

Despair darkened Sam's mind as the world narrowed. Each passing hour had made rescue seem less likely, but he'd held out on the hope of seeing his family again eventually. Was Shepard lying? Or had there been other agents waiting to rush the bunker once it was cleared of angels? Could a banishment be powerful enough to kill?

A pinch to his thigh brought him back to Shepard's disapproving face and he barely managed to remember the question. "No...no running." He had no where to run if the others were dead.

"Good boy," Shepard smiled and released his jaw. "Remember the rules and you won't have to be punished again." He picked Sam up off the table and took him back to the kennel. Sam found himself clutching the man's shirt to stave off being put down, but Shepard just chuckled and peeled him away.

Removing the handcuffs, Shepard returned Sam to his place in the manacles on the floor. Heart pounding as he found himself face up this time, he tried to take comfort in the fact that they were allowing him to keep the clothes. His back seized and he lost his breath. He saw Ms Watt join them inside the cage and give Shepard some kind of small canister before returning to the doorway to take up her post as 'look out against the kid chained to the floor.'

"Ah, thank you Ms Watt. Quite helpful, as always."

"Welcome, Shep," she answered in her usual bored tone.

Shepard retrieved a small stool from outside the cage and sat on it by Sam's feet. He held up the canister so Sam could see it. "Do you know what this is?" he asked as he unscrewed the bulbous top to reveal a burnt wick. Sam shook his head and the man lit it. The flames burned blue and orange. "It's holy oil. Have you ever seen an angel burned by holy oil? I'm told it's the worst pain imaginable for your species."

Sam shook his head again, frantically this time, and stared at the ceiling. His breathing was too fast so he forced himself to inhale slowly through his nose. The man grabbed Sam's right ankle in a rock-solid hold and used it to maneuver him—leg raised, knee bent, and the sole of his foot parallel with the floor.

"What's the lesson this morning, little halo?" Shepard asked again.

Clenching his hands in their restraints, Sam felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes. "N-no r-r-running," he stammered and tried to brace himself.

Nothing prepared him for the sudden scalding burn that began on the ball of his foot and worked its way down to his heel. It radiated all the way up to his finger tips, a searing heat that made his blood feel like lava flowing through his veins. Something snapped against his spine and his back bowed off the ground.

He didn't see the flash of pure light explode through the room, causing glass to shatter and machines to rain sparks. He didn't hear the shouts of Shepard and Ms Watt as bolts of electricity threw them unconscious to the ground in motionless heaps. He didn't feel the building shake as though caught in an earthquake. All he knew was agony. The tempest was free and he howled, raging with it.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

HOLY CRAP this chapter wanted to be SO long I had to split it. It was well over 13,000 words before I was like, "Enough is enough!" The upside means that the next part is almost completely done! Which means this story (story, not series) may be done in time for Christmas! WootWoot! I want to thank everyone who has commented and messaged me. You are all the reason for the season to me 3  
So don't forget-more comments equal more story!  
(not really, but I figured it's worth a shot...)


	16. The Valley of the Shadow pt 4

**THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW**  
 **PART 4: AND MERCY SHALL FOLLOW**

A cry rang out from the Earth, riding a wave of grace that crashed violently against the edges of the universe.

Angels stationed planet-side were deafened by the nearly-forgotten sound of a fledgling's voice. One by one, they flew off back to heaven in a rush to report the impossible.

Heaven shook with the revelation. Halls fell silent with shock before bursting into a flurry of movement.

Castiel and Gabriel felt it as they plunged through the oncoming cloud of well-known energy. It sizzled along their wings like little electrified phantom fingers. They honed in on the voice and pushed harder.

And two other brothers, long separated from each others' sides, heard the lost child as they returned from spending time with their Father. Sharing a knowing look, both disappeared with a whisper of wings.

* * *

Jody drove the twins' Jeep like the professional she was trained to be—which was lucky for them because Dean was a maniac in the Impala and drove it like he stole it. Alicia sat in the front passenger's seat sharpening a blessed dagger. Max sat behind them in silent meditation.

They had been on the road for two hours, and every second had been tense with nerves and anticipation. Mary would occasionally call from the Impala with a question or suggestion about the rescue plan. Jody liked the female Winchester—it was hard not to like a woman so obviously full of love and devotion despite her recent experiences.

They kept the car radio off, so it was silent when _it_ happened. Jody saw Alicia drop the knife and sharpening stone at the same time that Max gasped loudly. "What? What is it?" she asked the twins when no one spoke right away.

"I don't know," Max groaned. Jody saw him clutch his head in the rear-view mirror.

"There's been a massive discharge of energy nearby," Alicia answered, her hands shaking as held one over her mouth. Sweat beaded on her brow.

"He's screaming..." Max added, still trying to catch his breath.

" _He_ who?" Jody demanded. "Sam?"

"I don't know," the twins answered together.

"Shit," Jody muttered and grabbed her phone from it's dashboard holder, "Mary, something's happening."

* * *

It was raining ice and fire.

Sam opened his eyes only to have water pour into them. He shut them quickly and tried to angle his head in a way that the water avoided blinding him. It took some adjusting, but he was finally able to see a little.

It looked like a bomb had gone off right where Sam was laying. Burn marks branched out across the floor, bars, ceiling, and walls, all leading to him. The sprinklers were pouring down water over smoking, ruined machines. Alarms sounded from another room. He saw Ms Watt lying in a heap under fallen equipment, moaning but not moving.

Sam swung his head around in search of the man. He found him a few feet away to his right against the cage bars. There were blisters covering Shepard's face and hands. His suit-clad leg was clearly broken and lay at an unnatural angle. Sam couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

It wasn't until that moment that he realized the biggest new development— _he could feel his grace_. It was no longer raging under his skin, but settled against his bones as though exhausted from work with Gabriel. It barely reacted to his mental prodding, but the connection was there again no matter how dim. Sam gasped and almost choked on the spray from the sprinklers. Hope sprouted through the pain as he tested his bonds. The manacles held strong and his grace refused to even move down his arm.

"Cas, Gabe, I hope you can hear me," he mouthed the prayer below a whisper, "I'm in an old animal hospital a few hours by car from the bunker. I don't..." his throat constricted, "I think I knocked out the Brits who have me, but I'm chained up and I can't...I don't...Please check on Dean and Mom. I don't know if they..." He stopped and slowed his breathing, not wanting to lose the will to escape in the middle of his only opportunity.

A deep, resonating hum pushed its way past the chaos. It settled in Sam's ear and he turned his head toward the garage hall entrance in time to see a man enter the room. He was lean and aging, with skin the richest mahogany lined by wrinkles instead of grain. An ivory African dashiki embroidered in intricate gold patterns flowed from his broad shoulders down over matching pants that hung above bare feet.

Sam tugged at his bonds again, but there was no give. Still humming, the man walked forward, heedless of the broken glass. Limited in defense moves, Sam brought his knees up so he could at least try to kick. He forgot about the burn until he set his feet flat against the floor and his vision went white with scorching fire.

The stranger appeared at his side and rested a warm hand the Sam's right shoulder. Blinking, he forced his eyes to focus on the kind face hovering above him. " **Peace, child. You are safe now,** " the voice was so low and resonant it sounded like he'd chanted the Enochian. He reached his free hand toward the manacles and they fell open with a crack.

Sam immediately rolled to his left, away from the unknown angel and Shepard's burnt face. His body screamed at him for moving and he was overcome with dizziness, but the need to _get out_ was stronger. When he hit the cage, he grabbed hold of the bars and pulled himself to standing on his good foot.

" **No! You stay. Stay!** " Sam said as loud as he could. His throat felt like he'd swallowed razors.

The angel stayed where he was with his hands up to try and placate Sam. " **You are injured. Will you not allow me to tend your wounds?** " his head tilted in puzzlement.

" **No! No allow. No touch! Stay.** " Sam dragged himself along the walls of the cage, body shaking with the exertion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Olive branch laying on the floor. Keeping his eye on the angel, Sam slowly made his way over to the holy relic. It took some balancing, but he was able to slide down on his right knee to pick up the stick and stand again without putting weight on his burned sole. Holding the thin rod made him feel some measure of protection for the first time since he saw Gabriel banished. " **Who you? Name!** "

The angel stared at him in obvious conflict and disbelief as he took a step forward, " **I have never had a fledgling refuse healing. Why choose to extend your suffering, little—** "

" **I not fucking know you!** " Sam growled, not in the mood to hear pet names from strangers.

Now that his grace wasn't about to explode, he felt more in control of his body. He used the exam table as a guide to move backwards toward the hallway. His bare feet scraped along the sharp litter on the ground but he didn't care. He was standing and moving and somewhat free for the moment. The day was already improving.

The angel stopped with a pained look and lowered his arms with a slowly half-bow. " **My apologies, Samuel.** "

" **You know me?** " Sam stopped him, needing answers over apologies. Castiel had started shielding him from other angels the day he found Sam in the bunker hallway with a knife. When Gabriel arrived, the archangel had taken over the duty and reinforced the seraphs wards with his own. According to their reception of angel-radio, no one was discussing him which apparently meant no one knew.

" **Of course I know you, child. I knew you the moment I heard your cry. Our Father has not made a fledgling in many millenniums,** " he smiled warmly, the words rolling out of him like a lion's purr. Sam felt a familiar pleasant tugging in his chest that drew him toward the angel. It was the same thing he felt with _his_ angels, but they had earned his trust. He watched the angel place a hand over his heart like he was going to swear a pledge. " **We have met twice before, but only one time did I have a vessel. I am Raphael, the Healer of Heaven.** "

Wings rose behind Raphael—a delicate curtain of pure white feathers with veins of gold and emerald. Sam's eyes widened and he stumbled briefly before regaining his balance. " **No,** " he whispered as his mind went straight to who was supposed to be brought back alongside this archangel, " **No, no, no...** " His eyes darted around the room, half expecting God's oldest angel to appear.

He needed to get out. Get away. Get to anyone still alive—anywhere that wasn't with British torturers or vengeful archangels. Movement caught his eye and he turned to see Ms Watt's arm shifting under the rubble. His body froze in a rush of other fears returning.

A hand clap broke through his rising panic, and he jumped to see Ms Watt disappear from spot a few feet away. She reappeared inside the kennel with Shepard's blistered body. Raphael stepped passed the bars and sealed the cage door with a gesture, never taking his eyes off Sam.

" **You are safe, Samuel. I promise no harm will come to you. We will see you reunited with your family and caretakers, that is all.** "

Raphael's eyes and tone promised more than Sam could trust—especially concerning his family. The holy relic shook in his hand, and in less than a second only one word stood out to him. " _ **We**_ **?** "

Raphael gave a single, low nod, " **Michael is currently intercepting Gabriel and Castiel. They—** "

" **Why?!** " Sam demanded, coughing when he pushed too hard.

" **Why what?** " the archangel asked, confused but patient.

" **Why stop them being here? If you help, why stop them?** " Sam fought to find enough words and still be hyper-vigilant for the oldest brother.

" **Ah, yes, I meant 'intercepting' in the sense that he is providing them assistance with their re-entry.** " Raphael smiled fondly at something Sam didn't understand.

" **What mean?** " he asked as he finally reached the door to the hallway.

" **Gabriel and Castiel are currently blazing a trail through this solar system to return to you. Their speed is...greater than is advisable. Michael is simply going to ensure he slows down before crashing into the Earth, or he will risk destroying the planet.** " The archangel took small measured steps toward Sam. " **I do not know what led you to become separated from you flock, but they** _ **will**_ **be here soon.** "

* * *

Gabriel saw him coming.

The vessel was hidden behind the true-form of the angel speeding toward them. He was beautiful—wings like flames trailing behind the glorious vision of God's eldest son. How long had it been since Gabriel had seen the glory his oldest brother's righteous fire? The sight filled Gabriel with giddiness. This was Michael restored. _Michael_ —the commander of God's armies and the great prince who stood up for the children of the people, not the empty shell of an angel who had hardened and dwindled behind closed doors in Heaven!

And...he was going to collide with them somewhere between Mars and the Earth's moon, if Gabriel's calculations were correct.

 _Cassie, we've got incoming!_

Castiel looked up, drained but giving Gabriel all he could to help. _Who...?_

 _It's Michael! Hang on tight, bro..._

Gabriel felt when Michael's hand grabbed hold of Castiel, jerking them slightly off trajectory. Arms clamped around Gabriel's back, crushing the seraph between them. Feathers of fire gave powerful thrusts to shift their course back on track and then began to slow their momentum.

 _Hello, brothers,_ Michael said softly.

 _Mickey! Fancy meeting you here._ Gabriel laughed in delight. _Welcome back, big bro!_

 _Gabriel, you are going too fast. If you do not slow down, it will cause a disaster._

 _Well, you know me...places to go, people to see..._

 _A fledgling to save,_ Castiel added his voice to the mix and Gabriel was proud of his little brother's casual smoothness.

 _Yes, I know. Samuel Winchester is being attended to by Raphael. The Healer will deal with any who intend harm to our newest sibling. We must focus on not undoing all of Father's efforts—it will all be for naught if you demolish the world in your haste._

 _Gabriel!_ Castiel's voice held the same anxiety the youngest archangel was feeling. Sam had refused to even talk about the returning two archangels since he'd learned of it. Chances of a meeting between Sam and Raphael going well without anyone else there right after a potentially traumatizing experience? Very slim.

 _I know, Cassie. We're almost there._

Raphael insisted on slowly following Sam, maintaining the same distance but not allowing him to get further away. He kept his hands at his side, palms out, as though to look less threatening. It would have been more effective if Sam didn't know it took less than a thought for an archangel to scatter a person's atoms into the wind.

He focused on getting through the hallway instead of speaking. Unfortunately, he missed seeing a stray bit of debris and his bad foot caught on it. He fell back onto the ground with a painful yelp. Raphael rushed forward, arms reaching for him, but Sam yelled, " **No! Please no!** " Without a thought, he swung the Olive branch and stuck Raphael on the back of his hand.

Raphael reeled back, clutching the hand to his chest and staring at the rod in disgust. " **What is that thing?** " he demanded.

Sam gulped and didn't know if he should throw the branch far away or keep hold of it. If he angered the archangel, there would be nothing to save him. Especially not some stick that only worked if Raphael came within arm's reach of Sam and did nothing to defend himself.

Staring up at the outraged being, Sam couldn't find the Enochian words to answer. " **It**...it's an Olive branch. Noah's dove brought a piece back to the ark from the same tree or something. I don't..." his eyes filled until he couldn't see Raphael's face clearly anymore. He shook his head, trying to work up the energy needed to move.

Rolling onto his stomach, Sam pushed up on shaking arms and ignored the tears steadily falling. They just ran together with the sweat and sprinkler water at this point. If Raphael wanted to kill him, there was nothing stopping him. But until that happened, Sam was determined to make it outside.

" **Oh Father, what did they do to you?** " Raphael's voice sounded too emotional for an angel. There was too much compassion and sadness infused into his ringing words. Sam didn't want to be understood by this stranger.

"Nothing I haven't already experienced at your brothers' hands," he grunted the angry retort as he made it up onto his knees. Breathing deeply was getting harder to do, like there was an enormous weight on his back. He wondered if angels could get sick from extreme temperature exposure. Do normal angels even _feel_ temperatures? Was it a fledgling thing, or was he just different?

" **I am sorry, Samuel, for my part in your suffering,** " Raphael said softly. " **Please, allow me to help. What would be most helpful to you right now?** "

The tone had Sam looking over at him. At some point, the archangel had knelt down and was now sitting on his heels with his hands resting atop the cloth pants. He was the picture of patience and humility.

It made Sam pause—the urge to be stubborn fought with the desperation to escape. His body was crashing from the constant cold and pain and fear. Accepting help when he couldn't even stand was likely the only way he was getting out of here unless he wanted to lay in the floor and wait to be found. Or until Raphael looses his patience with him.

" **I...I go outside,** " he said hesitantly, watching Raphael closely. The archangel bowed his head and waited for Sam to continue. " **No fly. Only walk.** " When he received another nod, Sam slowly held out a hand.

Raphael unfolded himself and moved to engulf Sam's tiny hand with a calloused palm. He pulled Sam to his feet with a surprising amount of gentleness for such a powerful being. " **Are you certain you do not wish healing? You have many injuries—some appear quite severe and painful.** "

Sam tensed and shook his head too fast, making himself dizzy again. " **No heal!** " It was bad enough having to be in physical contact with another person right after being tortured by strangers. He feared feeling the grace of an archangel would be his undoing.

" **I promise I will not heal you without permission,** " Raphael tried to reassure him although he still looked perplexed, " **Will you lean on me as you walk?** "

Unexpected relief brought a brief smile to Sam's busted lips—having his consent stripped away so thoroughly made the concession feel like an big step toward reclaiming his autonomy. He nodded and they made their way slowly down the hallway and waiting area until they reached the garage. The SUV was parked in the same place, but now Sam could see what was past the garage doors.

Limping out into the driveway, he gazed at the fields and trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun sat low on the horizon and Sam estimated it had been less than an hour since it first peaked over the tree line. Mist lingered in patches in the bitter morning air. But this cold was different—fresh and crisp and free.

They stood there until fatigue hit Sam and his knees started to buckle. Raphael caught him, slipping an arm behind Sam to encompass the small bony elbow. " **Samuel...** " he started, but paused when Sam shook his head. An escaped whimper spurred the archangel to continue, " **Samuel, if you refuse healing then you must rest. You cannot continue to stand in your condition.** "

Sam stared back into the garage. He probably should have found a phone inside and at least tried to call Dean. And grabbed a blanket. And found his shoes. And maybe retrieved the holy oil to send the whole building up in a fiery blaze. Closing his eyes as his body began to hang heavy in Raphael's grip, Sam imagined being back home in the bunker surrounded by family and laughter and safety.

 _'Do you think we left the rest of them alive...Leave the man who bore the Mark of Cain and the thing wearing your dead mother's body?'_ Shepard's words taunted him. ' _You will never again see the archangel or your brother's blue-eyed pet.'_

Eyes snapped open and he was compelled to keep moving. His body, however, was done. There was nothing left in his energy reserves. Cramps in his stomach reminded him that he'd had no food or water since dinner two nights prior. Shifting his right foot forward, he failed to lift it high enough and the sole scraped across the driveway. Pain that had dulled during the lull ratcheted back to full strength, shooting from his foot to ricochet throughout his body. Sam swallowed back nausea and renewed tears.

" **Enough, child.** " Raphael rumbled and scooped Sam into his arms. The Olive branch fell to the ground, rolling out into the weed-filled yard.

Cradled against the broad chest, Sam flew straight into furious panic. He pushed against the immovable arms, clawing at unbreakable skin and spitting in helpless rage. _Raphael lied!_ Sam knew better than to trust an archangel. Delivered from one enemy and into the hands of another more powerful. " **No! No! NO!** " he cried out before sinking his teeth into Raphael's upper arm.

Raphael seemed unphased by the struggles. **"You are safe. We will find a place to sit comfortably and wait for the others to arrive. Shh, the fight is over. Rest now, you fierce fledgling.** " He patiently hummed a nameless song as he carried Sam over to a bench. It was situated out a ways from the front of the building, in the yard surrounded by dead flowers. Raphael carefully sat him down on the stone seat.

Sam scrambled to the far end of the bench and huddled there. The archangel stepped back and stared up at the sky, giving him space to settle. The morning outside was calm and still with a steady stream of low-sung notes from the archangel that sank deep into Sam's chest. His grace, raw and restless, warmed without his permission in the hummed vibrations. His breathing gradually eased and it chased away the icy-edge in the air.

The growl of an engine grew in the distance, so familiar it resonated in Sam's bones and drowned out the soft humming. His whole body thrummed with a surge of energy and anxiety. Reality was still too hazy to completely trust his senses, but he turned red-rimmed eyes toward the sound of home.

 _'No one would mourn your passing.'_

The most beautiful sight emerged on the road out of the woods. The Impala, roaring at maximum speed, turned sharply into the long driveway and spun dramatically before continuing her flight straight toward them. Close on her bumper was a black Jeep he didn't recognize.

Raphael laugh quietly, " **I believe that is the human equivalent to how Gabriel and Castiel are approaching our location as well.** " Then, Sam watched as the smile fell from the weathered face leaving only a serene seriousness.

A deafening boom split the air and shook the ground. Sam grasped the edge of the bench to keep from falling as everything lurched and he felt a hand hold him firmly by the shoulder. "Was that...was that Cas and Gabriel?" he asked.

" **No,** " Raphael answered simply. A flash of silver fell from the tunic sleeve into long steady fingers. The archangel's weapon was more staff than sword with an extended grip topped by a silver globe. The end pointing toward the ground was sharp and gleaming as it swung to plant itself in the ground beside them.

A figure emerged from the far side of the clinic building and at first Sam feared it was one of the British agents somehow free and conscious. But it quickly became clear that this man was different. He wore expensive black leather and eye-liner and had long greasy hair that hung past his shoulders.

Sam recognized him as he drew closer and gaped in bewilderment. There was no way... "Vince Vicente?" he asked, baffled by the bizarre entrance of the classic rock icon. _This isn't real. I'm dreaming, or they drugged me_ , his thoughts tried to make sense of it. He dug his thumb into the meat of his left palm but nothing changed.

'Vince' stared at him and stalked closer. His boots fell like boulders against the ground and Sam knew this was not the musician he'd secretly admired a lifetime ago. One corner of the rock god's mouth curled upwards, and Sam could see _._ He heard tires skid to a stop behind him but he couldn't turn to look. Couldn't take his eyes off the waking nightmare.

* * *

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Dean cursed loudly as they tore up the longest driveway in existence. "What do you see?"

Mary leaned against the dashboard, a pair of binoculars almost touching the glass windshield. "There's an older black man standing next to Sammy. I don't see anyone else." Her phone rang and Dean snatched it from the seat.

Switching the audio to speaker, he barked, "What!?"

"Don't get out!" Jody's voice screamed through the phone.

"What?! Are you..." he repeated, this time in outrage.

She cut him off, "The man isn't human! And the twins are saying someone else..."

"Dean! There's another man!" Mary shouted over Jody.

They reached the end of the drive and skidded to a stop near a garage. The Jeep stopped right behind them. Mary was already pushing the binoculars into his hand when he reached for them. Looking out the window, he looked at Sammy first.

He couldn't get a clear view of his brother, but it was definitely Sam. The kid sat at the far end of the bench with his back to them. The person standing beside the tiny hunched figure was also turned away and looked braced for battle. Dean followed the direction they were staring to see a third man.

Frowning, he pulled back from the window and wiped at his eyes. Looking again, he fiddled with the dials to refocus the lenses, trying to make the picture clearer. It didn't change—the man remained exactly the same.

"Dean?" Jody's voice sounded confused.

"Yeah, Jody?" Dean felt like he'd fallen back into bizarro Earth.

"Is that..." she couldn't finish and he didn't blame her.

"Yeah, Jody," he confirmed, "It's Vince Vicente."

It was official—nothing made sense anymore.

* * *

"Of course it's you!" Lucifer flung his arms out and laughed at the sky. "Seven and a half billion humans on this decaying planet, and it is _always_ you. Why is that?"

" **Lucifer,** " Raphael's voice held authority tinged with old love as he addressed his fallen brother, " **why have you come here?** "

"What, and miss that 'new feather' smell?" he snarked, then shrugged, "Call it curiosity. Every angel in creation heard him. I gotta ask, roomie, I _never_ heard you scream like that. What did they do that I didn't, hmm?"

" **Enough!** " Raphael bellowed. There was an almighty crack like a tree snapping and white feathers curtained Sam's body like the streaming leaves of a weeping willow. The smell of spicy earth and honeysuckle washed over him. Sam unconsciously tucked his feet under the bench and leaned into Raphael's hand. " **Leave here, brother.** "

"And why would I do that, _brother?_ " Lucifer sneered.

A high-pitched tone pierced the morning. It was followed by a ball of fire in the sky that grew brighter and brighter, streaking straight toward them. Lucifer's head shot up to stare in horrified understanding at the rapidly approaching light, but Raphael didn't flinch. " **Because our brothers are on their way. Gabriel is eager to return to this child—you remember how protective he is over fledglings. It is in your best interest to leave. We can settle our differences another time.** _ **Please!**_ "

No one had time to reply. Fire trailed past them faster than sound and crashed into the field on the far side of the road. Sam could make out the angels' true-forms carve a scar through the earth as dirt billowed upward in a cloud.

* * *

Gabriel laid in the crater and wondered if this is what humans felt when they said they'd had the breath knocked out of them. Castiel was sprawled across his chest and groaning from the force of their landing. They heard another moan from the other side of the hole they'd created. Thank God for big brothers who cushioned their fall.

Lifting his head, Gabriel saw Michael stand and shake the dirt from his vessel, healing any damage taken in re-entry. Pushing Castiel up, Gabriel did the same for them. Climbing to their feet, he reached with his grace toward the other three grace-beings gathered by a building a short distance away. Cold fear and anger twisted his grace when Gabriel realized who was with Sam and Raphael. Castiel grabbed his sleeve in a death-grip, trepidation clear on his face.

 _Lucifer!_ They hissed to Michael and flew into the fray without waiting on their oldest brother.

* * *

Sam watched Lucifer brace himself just as a gale-force wind almost blew him off his stylish boots. Raphael's grip and wing cover prevented Sam from being thrown to the state line as two angels slammed onto the ground in matching crouches, angel blades drawn and grace igniting their vessels from within. He pinched his palm harder—just to be safe.

Gabriel was already moving to plant himself between Lucifer and Sam, wings fully extended. " **Crawl back to your cesspool, and do not** _ **ever**_ **think to place yourself in Samuel Winchester's presence again without permission. He is** _ **my**_ **charge, under** _ **my**_ **protection, and I will** _ **not**_ **allow him to suffer seeing your face.** "

The sound of Gabriel's voice made Sam want to weep with relief. Peering past the white feathers, his heart raced as he saw Castiel slowly moving toward the bench. The seraph was keeping his eyes on the standoff, but when he reached them, he turned to Raphael and gave a tense nod. Sam felt the hand on his shoulder pat him gently, then the Healer stepped around the bench to join Gabriel.

Sam sat motionless when Castiel knelt in front of him and silently traced all the cuts and bruises that littered his skin before those blue eyes lifted to meet his. The angel blade disappeared inside the trench coat. Hesitantly, the seraph brought his hands up in offering. Sam stared at the raised palms, his muddied mind unable to discern what was being asked of him.

" **Samuel, may I touch you?** " Castiel's gruff tone felt soft as silk against Sam's raw nerves.

Heart pounding in his throat, Sam couldn't bring himself to answer. More than anything, he wanted to burrow into the familiar folds of that trench coat and stay until the world faded away. Did Castiel even know how much those words meant to him? But to say 'yes' after hours of fighting through agony inflicted by hands felt like a defeat. Fear that the touch might be what breaks the illusion of rescue and sends him back to being chained to a floor and beaten was just another motivating factor against giving in.

Raging voices grew louder. Sam flinched and hunched lower on the bench. Black wings manifested, tall and solid, to envelop them and close out the world. A rainbow of colors splintered in the sun's light and danced over the ebony feathers. The air warmed with the scent summer rain. Castiel smiled and the tugging in his chest that said _safety-home-love_ finally won out. With a nod, Sam placed one of his fists in the center of Castiel's hand.

Fingers curled around his and a sob shook Sam's shoulders. Castiel shifted forward and brought his other hand to lightly rest on the back of Sam's head, encouraging him to lean against the seraph's shoulder. That was all the push Sam needed. His hands gripped the beige collar and he buried his face in the fabric. Tears soaked through the cloth layers as he felt himself lifted and settled against Castiel's chest.

The hand softly combing through his hair moved down his neck without touching the collar and brushed against his shoulder blades. Sam let out a strangled cry and twisted away from the hand. Instincts told him to fight anything that caused pain, but they warred against the promise of safety associated with this angel. The hand immediately returned to his hair and resumed carding through the tangled curls.

" **Shh, I am so sorry. I did not realize...shh, I will not touch them again,** " Castiel said in a rush as he moved them somewhere further from the arguing archangels. Sam didn't know what he was talking about, but settled back firmly when the hurt faded.

A rush of wings announced the arrival of yet another newcomer. Sam pressed harder against Castiel when he felt the angel freeze and turn back around. The others were silent.

" **Enough of this. You are arguing about nothing. Lucifer, you are free to leave. There will be no fight between us—any of us. Please go for now, and I shall meet you at a later time and we can...talk.** " There were two voices speaking simultaneously, an oddity Sam had grown used to hearing when listening to angels through his own grace. But this was different. Sam recognized _both_ voices, although he could only name one—Michael.

" **Oh please, heard any good show tunes lately?** " Lucifer mocked, bitter and angry, " **What could we possibly talk about that was not already discussed during our forced family bonding time down under?** "

" **What could you possibly hope to accomplish here going against all three of your brothers?** " Raphael's words flowed smoothly over the tension.

" **Listen to the host, Lucifer. All of Heaven heard and felt this boy. They are massing teams right now to investigate. Will you face us all? And for what?** " Michael radiated calm confidence.

" **Fine!** " Lucifer snapped and Sam flinched at the tone, " **Have fun playing happy family. Tell Dad I said 'hi' if you ever see him again.** " A deafening crack sounded the devil's exit.

"Ugh, still a bag of dicks," Gabriel huffed in English, "Castiel, how is he? Let me see him." Sam heard hurried footsteps approach them.

"Not well, although I do not think there is anything life threatening. But look at his back," Castiel answered.

There was a sharp intake of breath and Sam braced for a touch that never came, "He's too young! Oh, Sammy...let me see you, kiddo. Raphael, I need information."

" **There is a severe burn on the sole of his right foot Holy oil, if I am not mistaken.** " Raphael said from a distance, " **I would have healed him, however...** "

Sam felt them sit and his body was shifted so he was sideways in Castiel's lap.

Gabriel snorted, "I'm surprised he let you near him. Come on, kiddo, show me those peepers."

Sam had to blink away salty crust from his eyelashes before he could focus on Gabriel's face hovering worriedly in front of him. Fingertips trailed over his hands where his palm now bled under the assault of his own thumbnail. "There you are," Gabriel's voice cracked, "Hey."

"Hey," Sam tried to say but it came out more air than sound.

Gabriel frowned in concentration, eyes flashing gold, "What is this thing?" He reached up to Sam's throat and touched the collar.

" **Gabriel, wait!** " Raphael tried to warn, but it was too late.

It snapped open and fell to the ground. Sam felt the connection to his grace surge to fully open. His hands flailed, grasping at Castiel's arm wrapped around his waist and a fistful of Gabriel's feathers. Relief and pain blended into one as he felt every injury inflicted on the trapped grace. The weight on his back _moved_ and the pain flowed outward, away from his body, yet he remained bound to it.

Electricity immediately arched from his limbs and he saw the golden eyes grow round. Castiel grunted but didn't let go. Gabriel's hand pressed flat against Sam's chest and the storm drained away, " **There we go. It is not bad this time. I suspect you already released most of it earlier. Almost there...I am so sorry it took so long.** " After a few minutes, the hand lifted to brush against Sam's neck again. This time, cool relief soothed his torn throat and he sighed with heavy eyes.

" **There are a bunch of humans sitting in vehicles over there. Does anyone know why?** " Michael asked. Sam turned his face into Castiel's chest. He didn't want to see the only being he feared second to Lucifer.

" **That was me,** " Raphael admitted, " **I did not wish the humans to stumble into a battle unawares. I thought it best they stayed where they were safer.** "

Castiel turned them to see the two cars' worth of people trying to get doors and windows open. "Dean does not look happy," he said, seeing the expression of pure wrath etched into the Righteous Man's face.

" **Let them out, Raphael,** " Gabriel said with glance at Michael, "This is not going to be good."

* * *

Despite Jody's warning to stay in the car, Mary knew nothing would stop her from rushing right out there. Never mind she had nothing to wield that rated above a butter knife against anything more powerful than a seraph. Never mind that she hadn't been on a hunt for years and her youngest son's life could hang in the balance. She didn't need superpowers or a badge or the experience of several apocalypses under her belt to protect him.

She listened to Dean and Jody talk and was trying to figure out who 'Vince Vicente' could be when the field behind them exploded. Her hand flew to the door handle and she almost knocked herself out against the window when the door refused to budge. She toggled the lock and tried again to no avail. "Dean! Dean!"

"What?" he said, twisted around in his seat to see the dust cloud.

"The door won't open!"

He spun back to see her still trying to work the handle. He did the same to his door with the same results. "Damn it!" he shouted and elbowed the window. It bounced off and Dean let out a pained gasp. "Motherfu—"

"Sitting right here, Dean," she interrupted with a frown. "Why didn't you try that with the butt of your gun?"

"Elbow seemed faster," he wheezed.

A gust of wind rocked the car, blinding them with a kick-up of dust and dry brown grass.

" _Dean! What is that? Can you see anything?_ " Jody's voice streamed through the phone that had fallen in the floor.

Dean reached down and grabbed it, "No idea, Jody. Hold on...it's starting to clear."

Mary saw the clear image of a trench coat moving toward her baby. "Oh, thank God!" she whispered, "It's Castiel."

"Then let's hope Gabriel ain't far behind." Dean said, still trying to open his door. "Jody, can you guys get out?"

There was a pause. " _Nope_ ," she answered.

" _This is grace-magic. And way_ _too powerful for us to break,_ " Max's voice sounded further from the phone.

" _Even if we had all the tools and time to prepare,_ " Alicia added, louder.

Mary watched as Castiel picked Sam up and jealousy soured her stomach for a second. Until _he_ arrived. She heard a muffled, choked yell and realized it came from her.

Dean didn't turn around. His whole body vibrated with anticipation, laser-focused on the newest arrival to the scene. But instead of shocked, he seemed angry. Angrier than she knew him capable of being.

"Dean? What's going on?" Mary asked in a broken voice, barely able to look away from the man in the field.

He didn't answer her right away. Instead, he pulled out an angel blade and raised the phone to his mouth. "Folks, the plan is out."

" _What?!_ " Jody yelled, " _What do you mean the plan is out? We don't have another plan, Dean!_ "

"You see those four men out there with Cas and Sam? I'm pretty sure I know who they are, and we have _nothing_ to fight any of them. Not unless Chuck shows up. We have to hope Gabriel can handle this, and pray Cas can keep Sam safe and together," Dean said.

"Who are they?" Mary demanded.

"The archangels," he answered quietly.

Silence fell over both cars. They watched 'Vince' gesture dramatically before leaving with a deafening boom. The tension in the yard seemed to break as Gabriel rushed to Sam and started inspecting the boy. Mary covered her mouth when she saw the grace-lightning spark off the tiny body and only started breathing again when Gabriel finished draining the energy.

Then, the locks on the doors popped up.

* * *

Sam fought against the fatigue slowly gaining ground on his body. But he couldn't sleep yet—not when Dean and his mother were sprinting toward him. There were others trailing behind them, but Sam only had eyes for his family. Alive, with a cavalry.

 _'No one would mourn your passing.'_ The words whispered one more time before being thoroughly dismissed as Dean slid hard against the bench on his knees like a runner stealing third base.

"Sammy!" he was instantly pushing into Sam's space. Nose to nose with forest green eyes, his hands moving along Sam's arms and ribs, feeling for injuries. Dean pulled back a few inches so he could see the rest of him, pulling the shirt up and wincing at the bruises. "Damn kid. Gabe, why haven't you healed him yet?

"I didn't want to push him..." Gabriel started, but Dean sent him a death glare that made Sam smile.

"Dean," Sam rasped and raised a hand to trace his brother's freckles, counting each one in reassurance that this was real. He knew this face better than anyone. And while the angels were part of the family, Dean was _home._

A throat cleared from somewhere behind Sam. "Brothers, I must leave. A team of very confused angels are about to mutiny. I have kept them from descending upon us for now, but I think it best I return to Heaven. There is much to explain and even more to do. Raphael will accompany you back to your nest, Gabriel. To ensure everyone's safety and provide assistance with healing if needed."

Sam heard Mary gasp and looked up to see her face, pale and devastated. Her brow furrowed, caught between anger and confusion, as she stepped around them. Gabriel and Castiel and Dean all tensed, and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know what was happening.

"Why do you look so young?" she asked. Sam had never heard his mother sound so lost, and he turned to see the cause.

He should have known. Should have realized the possibility sooner.

Michael smiled, serene and compassionate—an expression that looked all wrong on John Winchester's face. "Hello, Mary."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Two posts in under 24hrs!  
Thank you to everyone who has stuck through this amazing journey thus far!  
Here's my Solstice gift to you all. And if we're really lucky, I may try to get the final chapter of this story up by Christmas...

I am sorry for anyone who had difficulties with the previous two chapters. I know it was a drastic turn from the beginning of the story, and it can be difficult to properly label things without the use of tags. I will go back and try to make sure they are visible and clearly defined.

Let the comforts commence!


	17. The Valley of the Shadow pt 5

**THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW  
** **PART 5: THE STILL WATERS**

* * *

Michael stretched in his new vessel, testing the limits between grace and flesh. He had rarely taken a physical body since their Father left Heaven unguided and slowly breaking. Most of his existence had been spent trying to regulate the angels and preparing for his showdown with Lucifer.

 _So much time wasted,_ he mourned, watching the Righteous Man slide to his knees next to the fledgling.

Before the cage, Michael had come to view humans as poorly as Lucifer. A failed leftover experiment of their Father's creation, they served a single purpose—birth the brothers meant to house the oldest two archangels. No one had been prepared for the vessels to defy their destiny. Or Sam Winchester's resolve against all the forces of Heaven and Hell.

The sight of Samuel, curled up on the seraph's lap and mapping freckles across his human brother's face, made Michael smile sadly. The child was captivating with his unique blend of grace and soul, both of which the archangel was intimately familiar. His Father's light flowed through the small body. It was the same light Michael saw when he was first formed. For an unmeasurable amount of time, it was the only light he knew until the Morningstar joined them in the unshaped universe. But Sam's soul—that was a light he remembered taking delight in dimming.

The thought turned Michael's grace and he cursed how it translated in the vessel as a feeling of nausea he couldn't entirely block out. His Father had designed it to perfectly fit the archangel and allowed for a depth of connection that defied his previous experiences entombed in skin. It was supposed to bind him to humanity on a physical level, but mostly it left him feeling sick and off-kilter. Especially the physical responses to guilt and sorrow that trailed him since the cage.

Voices from Heaven cut through his musings. He had intercepted a garrison attempting to approach their location after Gabriel and Castiel left to join Raphael against Lucifer. The warriors went from frantically responding to the fledgling's cry for help to flabbergasted at finding their commander alive and free. It had been easy convincing them to return and wait for him, but now they grew impatient. And word of his return was spreading through the Host as more and more voices joined the clamor.

Focusing back on the reunion playing out in front of him, he saw the bonds of love that tied these humans and angels together. They cared for each other deeply—as they should. _Is it too late? Can we still make things different?_ he wondered. This family gave him hope.

He cleared his throat, hesitant to draw attention to himself, and spoke in English out of respect for the humans. "Brothers, I must leave. A team of very confused angels are about to mutiny. I have kept them from descending upon us for now, but I think it best I return to Heaven. There is much to explain and do. Raphael will accompany you back to your nest, Gabriel. To ensure everyone's safety and provide assistance with healing if needed."

There was a gasp and Michael saw the blonde woman's face crumple. He recognized her as she moved toward him. She was older than the last time. He held still when she reached a hand to his face, but she pulled it back before they touched.

"Why do you look so young?" she asked, brokenly.

Michael smiled, "Hello, Mary."

The sound of his voice saying her name made her recoil and she stepped back to her huddled family. "You aren't John." It wasn't a question.

"No, I am not John Winchester," he said gently, gesturing at his torso and keeping his distance, "and he is not in this vessel with me. I am Michael, Commander of the Host of Heaven, at your service. I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you and your family safe. But for now, I shall keep my distance." He met the terrified hazel eyes peeking around the seraph's shoulder, "I have not earned a place of welcome or trust here yet, so I shall not linger."

"What of the **wretches** inside?" Raphael asked, and Michael heard the thread of anger running below the words.

"They come with me," his voice turning hard as they moved around the group to enter the garage. He had not gone inside yet, and he felt the need to see with these new eyes the place and people involved here. This was personal. And if there was a plot against the Winchesters, then it would be sought out and sundered.

"Stay here with Cas, Sammy, okay? I'll be right back. Gabe's gonna stay with you too, and so is Mom." Michael heard Dean whisper, then jog to join them. "I want to see them," his true-vessel said, eyes flashing a furious green.

Michael nodded in understanding. He saw Raphael retrieve something from the grass and then they walked inside. The place reeked of old death and ozone. Smoke hung in the air and he was startled when it burned his eyes. Blinking to clear the unfamiliar sensation, he turned to Raphael.

"There was a holy oil fire," the Healer explained, "It was small—already out by the time I arrived, but the smoke is highly irritating."

"They kept him in a ring of holy fire?" Dean demanded to know.

"No," Raphael said, ringing with regret, "They used it to burn his grace through the sole of his foot."

Michael felt a surge of enraged fire run over his wings, but the human spoke first. "And they're still alive?" he said in a tone low and dangerous. Michael was pleased to hear an impressive amount of threat in it.

"The man is almost gone, but the woman did not sustain any mortal injuries," Raphael reported as they stepped into a room reminiscent of Hell.

There were echoes of pain and fear that lingered in the frozen space. Hard gleaming metal and pools of water reflected the flashing lights. Michael flicked a finger and shut off the sprinklers and alarms.

 _Mickey, reign it in!_ Gabriel's voice sounded frustrated, _Sam can feel your temper, and now Cassie's having to calm him down._

 _I am sorry, brother._ Michael winced at the thought of adding to the boy's misery and quickly cooled his anger.

 _I know. And I'm sure I wouldn't be much better if I was in there seeing...whatever that was. Just...you may not want to come back out when you leave. Sam can't take seeing you again._

Michael felt the layers of Gabriel's regret and simply replied, _I understand._ He took in the ruined equipment and score-marks seared across every surface. In the center of it all sat a cage with two humans.

"What will you do with them?" Dean asked through clenched teeth.

"They will be interrogated, and when we have what we need, their souls shall be delivered to Hell. Their fates were sealed the second they touched Samuel—abuse of a fledgling is a crime never before imagined, let alone committed, and it will carry a strict sentence," Michael answered, "Until I settle the garrisons, they can sit in Heaven's prison and wait. In the meantime, I shall send a team to patrol your area. They will keep watch from a distance without intruding. Should you wish to continue hunting dangerous creatures, they will not interfere, but nothing will come within striking distance of your nest."

"Protection whether we want it or not? Awesome," the human sighed.

"You would turn away safety measures available to you?" Raphael tilted his head as he spoke, "Your brother was also adamantly opposed to assistance. Is this a human-thing?"

"No," Dean snorted and dragged a hand through disheveled hair, "it's a trust thing. As in, we don't trust you." There was a pause and the man dropped his arm and exhaled noisily. "But I can't stop you."

"I do not wish for these actions to upset you." Micheal tried to explain.

"Hearing my brother scream your name in his sleep upsets me," Dean said coldly, then looked away and shook his head at the sight of the room, "And if wishes were horses...well, we'd have a fuck-ton of horses and still be covered in shit."

The phrase was meaningless to the archangel, but he understood the first part. "I have done irreparable harm to Samuel for which I may never be able to atone. I will not force my presence on him or any of your flock unless you call on me."

"Good. Stay away. Use angel radio to talk to Gabriel, or better yet, learn to use a phone. But no surprise visits and I don't want to see so much as a feather on my lawn from your patrols. Understood?" the Righteous Man ordered the Commander of Heaven.

Michael stared in some awe of his true-vessel. How had he missed seeing this fire before? Truly, the world would have burned had Dean ever consented. "Yes, I understand," he said with a nod, "I must go."

"Take this with you," Raphael handed him the object he'd picked up in the yard. The smooth wood felt unpleasantly hot in his hand.

"What is it?"

"A branch of the sacred Sisters' Olive trees," the Healer stated.

Michael frowned as he studied the rod. "But why...?"

"They used it against the child. It inflicts terrible pain on our grace," Raphael winced and rubbed the back of his hand, "Samuel lashed out with it when he believed I would harm him."

Michael quelled the urge to incinerate the wood. Instead, he nodded again. "Take care of them, brother. I will see you in Heaven when you have finished," he turned to the hunter who looked green, "I take my leave, Dean Winchester. Be well. I am sure we will meet again."

And without waiting for a reply, Michael flew home with the prisoners.

* * *

Gabriel stayed beside Sam when his brothers and Dean went into the building. Castiel was right—while there was nothing life-threatening, the boy was definitely not alright. Shock made his hazel eyes unnaturally bright and his body was littered with injuries that went below the skin. Gabriel could see the bruised grace that rolled restlessly. And now that Dean was out of sight, Sam was digging at his left palm with renewed vigor.

"Hey Sammy," he sung lowly, "Easy there, kiddo." He tapped fingertips against the back of Sam's offending hand. Exhaustion slowed the boy's response, but eventually he looked down where Gabriel's fingers touched him. "I know you're pretty overwhelmed right now. We're going home soon, I promise. So let's not add to the list of things that need healing, okay?"

"Why does he do that?" Mary asked, still shaky and pale from seeing John's face.

Castiel answered her first. "It is a grounding technique he uses when he is unsure of his ability to discern reality." He gently pried Sam's hands apart and substituted his own for the boy to press on, "I imagine it will take time for him to recognize that he is, in fact, safe."

Gabriel stood from the bench and allowed Mary to sit next to her son. She perched on the edge like it may collapse under her presence. Her hands twitched several times, almost reaching for the boy but she kept stopping herself. "Hey Sammy," she gave him a watery smile. They watched as Sam slowly lifted his gaze to his mother and soaked in the sight of her face.

Resting his head against Castiel's chest, Sam managed a tentative smile back. Gabriel let out a breath and crouched down by them. He needed to assess Sam's injuries and sort out what needed immediate care. "Sam," Gabriel said and waited until he had the kid's attention, "I need to take a look at your foot, okay?" Sam shook his head and tried to tuck his feet under the bench. "I know, it's the last thing you want right now, but I need to see how bad it is. It's a long enough drive to get home without you sitting in agony, and I can't fly us with your wings in their state. So, please, may I see your foot? I promise not to touch without..."

He trailed off when Sam suddenly sat up. Curls swirled around as he twisted his head to look over his shoulders. The movement made him wince but he still used his free hand to reach behind him. Gabriel grabbed it and drew Sam's focus back to him. "What's wrong, Sam? Are they hurting you? I-I've never seen a fledgling manifest them so early..."

Sam shook his head and swallowed before trying to talk again. " **Wings?** "

Gabriel calculated what words were missing from the sentence as was usually the case when Sam spoke Enochian. _Are they okay? What are they doing?_ "What about them, Sammy? Can you try English?"

The boy was breathing too quickly as he struggled to speak, "What wings?"

They had discussed the stages of development for angels once, but no one had been sure how closely Sam would follow them. Wing development, however, was supposed to be off the table for a few more _centuries._ Which was probably why Sam looked so freaked out...

"Oh," Gabriel whispered, glancing at Castiel who also seemed to realize that Sam didn't know what had happened, "Um, right. So, that feeling between your shoulder blades? That pressure pulling at your spine? It seems like you sprouted some wing buds a little ahead of schedule."

"Sam has wings?" Mary asked, trying to look over Sam's shoulder, "I don't see anything."

"They are rarely visible to humans," Castiel answered, "And his are very...small."

Mary glanced to Gabriel when she heard something in Castiel's tone. He sighed, "They are a little underdeveloped but I think that's to be expected considering how early they've come. I'll talk to Raphael about it, but I'm sure they just need time and nurturing." He couldn't help but think how that was exactly what Sam needed too.

A flare of anger bled through Gabriel's bond with Michael and he shuddered to think of what had his oldest brother so furious. Castiel met his eyes and he knew the seraph had felt it too. They weren't expecting Sam to tense up and turn into Castiel's shirt with a whimper. "Shh, Sam, he is not angry with you," the angel murmured, gathering the fledgling closer. "He'll be leaving soon and you don't have to see or talk to him, I promise."

Gabriel knew there was no looking at Sam's foot until Michael left. He sent a quick thought to his brother, letting him know that he should avoid returning outside to them and to keep a lid on his emotions. Looking around, he tried to figure out a way to distract Sam. "Do one of you fine humans happen to have water with you? And maybe a blanket?"

"Sure do," the short-haired sheriff said.

"Fantastic. Cassie, how about you sit with him in the Impala. Might make him more comfortable," he directed before following the woman back to the Jeep. Mary and the two bronze bombshells stayed with them.

"What is happening, Gabriel?" Mary asked in a hushed voice, not understanding what had upset Sam.

"It's Michael—something made him pretty angry in there and Sam felt the backlash. I just want to get him somewhere comfy and quiet and familiar."

"And why can't you fly us back to the bunker?" Mary frowned as the sheriff handed her a blanket.

"Because those tiny wings are way too sensitive right now to handle flying. I think burning him with holy oil may have jump-started their growth, but they didn't fully emerge. Like they're still trapped in a metaphysical membrane. They're gonna need some work."

"We didn't know what state we'd find Sam in," said the young woman.

"So we also brought juice and a chocolate protein drink," the young man followed.

"Just in case," they ended together.

"Mary, you think we can keep them? Please? I'll feed them and everything," Gabriel begged as they returned to the Impala with all the supplies.

"We'll talk about it," she returned with a hint of a smile.

Castiel sat on the back passenger side, with Sam's head resting in the crook of his elbow. The boy laid on his side, facing the angel's chest. One dark wing stretched around them in warmth and protection without touching skin. Blue eyes looked relieved at the sight of them.

"Hey kids, how's it going over here?" Gabriel said with a soft cheerfulness as he slid next to them behind the driver's seat, being sure to duck under the feathers. Mary got into the front and turned to face them.

"His right leg has an injury that is too painful to take his weight if he lays on that side. And he does not find leaning back against anything tolerable," Castiel reported. He was holding his left arm awkwardly above Sam's face, and slowly working his fingers through the tangled hair.

Gabriel looked pointedly at his brother's posture, then raised an eyebrow in question.

 _He is in a lot of pain and very tired. I believe it makes him feel safe._ Castiel told him silently.

 _It's instinct_ , Gabriel sighed, _When children get scared, they cocoon. If they can't fight or run, they hide._

 _But Sam is not mentally a child._

 _He has the grace of a child._ Gabriel insisted. _Very young grace that is hurting and nervous._

Castiel nodded in understanding. _He has not spoken since asking about his wings._

"Hmm," Gabriel considered their options and opened a bottle of apple juice, "Sammy, do you want something to drink? I've got some juice here." Castiel lifted his elbow slightly so they could see the small head shake in answer. "Okay, how about a blanket?" Another shake of his head. Castiel lowered his arm when the boy's body began to tighten.

 _Perhaps we should just let him rest for a minute. Hopefully, Dean will be able to ground Sam and get him to respond on a verbal level,_ Castiel suggested.

Suddenly, Michael's presence vanished from the area and some of the tension in the air eased. _Well, that should certainly help things_ , Gabriel mused. Within seconds, Dean and Raphael were exiting the building. The hunter stalked toward them with murder in his eyes. _Okay, I'm gonna head him off,_ Gabriel told Castiel as he slid out of the car.

"Deano, hold up," he said, running up to the man.

"What?" Dean practically snarled.

"Just take a breath there, big guy. You're gonna send your brother into hysterics if you go near him like this," Gabriel settled his hands on the hunter's shoulders and used his strength to let the man know this wasn't a suggestion.

"You didn't see..." Dean started, half blinded by tears of rage.

"I don't need to see what is inside that building to know what was done to Sam," Gabriel said seriously, "And because we both know some of what he went through, it's up to us to stay calm and let Sam know it will not happen again. Right?"

Dean blinked and his eyes focused on the archangel. It took a moment for the words to push past his anger, but when they did he exhaled slowly and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. Gabriel left one hand to pat the broad shoulders as the man collected himself. Raphael stood close and waited. Finally, Dean straightened back up. "Right," he answered in a much calmer voice, "You're right. How's he doing?"

"Not talking. In pain and trying to hide. Almost tore a hole in his palm with his thumb when he couldn't see you." Gabriel gave him the honest rundown. Dean would read the same with his own eyes in an instant anyway—there was no sugar coating it. "I need to look at his foot. That burn will take some serious healing when we get back, but I can at least stop the pain until we do."

Dean nodded, wiped at his face, and got into the car next to his brother.

Gabriel felt Raphael step next to him. "I was under the impression that these are not normal situations for humans to be in. Yet there seems to be a routine here," the Healer observed.

"Have you _met_ the Winchesters?" Gabriel returned, scrunching his face in disbelief. Turning, he got a good look at his brother. The Healer's new vessel suited him.

"Dean Winchester was not surprised to hear any of his brother's symptoms. These are not new behaviors, then?"

Gabriel sighed and reached a hand to his brother's forehead. He showed Raphael images of the past two weeks—stories of sacrifices made since the apocalypse, and the suffering the Winchesters had endured as a consequence.

Raphael gasped at the new knowledge. "I see."

* * *

Sam wanted to stay where it was dark and warm. His head pounded with each heartbeat, stuck replaying the moment he saw Lucifer's light radiating out of Vince Vicente's body. And how the Morningstar's icy grace suddenly clashed with Michael's burning wrath.

He vaguely heard someone ask a question and the darkness lifted to flood his face with light. The question was unimportant—the answer was 'no' regardless. It was the only safe answer to give to faceless voices. Shaking his head didn't help the forming migraine, but he made himself respond. Anything to make the world go away. The light left him exposed and he curled up tighter to compensate.

When the dark fell like a curtain again, the tightness in his chest loosened enough to let him breathe. As long as he didn't move, Sam could drift in the dulled pain that stretched past his body. It was blissfully disconnecting—being pulled beyond his physical self. The sensation was as close to dissociating as he could get now. If the memories of the cage would fade as well, it might allow him to truly separate himself from what had happened.

Someone else joined them, but this person's voice cut through the layers keeping the world at bay. "Sammy? I'm back, little brother. Can you sit up for me? Come on, dude, sit up and drink some juice. It's apple, the kind you like. Come on. No smothering in Cas' shirt, alright?"

The arm holding Sam's head slowly raised him up despite his best attempts to stay concealed. Hands adjusted him so he sat sideways on a lap with a large arm wrapped around his waist. Sam tried to keep his face covered with his own arms, but familiar fingers took hold of his hands and brought them down, working to unclench his fists. Anxiety closed his throat and he heard himself whine in fear of being restrained again.

"Hey, hey...it's just me. Open your eyes, Sam. Please?" Sam felt his right hand get passed to someone else. Then, a single finger traced down the bridge of his nose. He jerked his head back but he couldn't go far with the arm holding him in place. There was a pause, and Sam kept his eyes firmly clenched.

The feather-light touch repeated and Sam started to relax into the bizarre but painless motion. Memories shifted from the cage to when he was actually six years old, laying in bed and pretending to sleep while his ten year old brother tried to wake him. It was their morning ritual to see how many swipes it took to make Sam smile and admit defeat.

Dean's voice was inches away from his face and Sam smelled coffee on his breath. "Saaammy, you know you want to look at my perfectly chiseled face, so open those eyes and soak it up. Come on, dude, I'll let you pick the music in the car for a month. Saaam...if you open your eyes, we can get a dog..."

Sam's eyes snapped open to see a startled Dean drop his jaw. But it was the angel's reaction that made the concession worth it.

Castiel gasped and every muscle in the vessel tensed. "Really?" he asked, a little breathless with excitement. Pure joy wrapped around them as it sang through Castiel's grace and shimmered across his feathers. Sam didn't have to turn to know the look Dean was getting from enormous blue eyes.

Dean huffed a laugh that was exasperated and fond, "Figures that's what would get your attention. And _you_ ," he threw a look at Castiel, "calm it down before _you_ need a puppy pad." His finger continued trailing from Sam's forehead to the tip of his nose, never increasing its pressure.

"I do not understand that reference."

Sam felt the corner of his mouth lift a little with each pass—just like his brother had trained him to do in their early years.

"Yeah, well thanks to Mr. Selective-Listening here, you will," Dean's smile mirrored Sam's own, slowly growing in strength. "Morning, Little Sammy Sunshine. You awake in there now?"

If fingers on his nose formed their childhood ritual, then those words were the closing chant. Nostalgia spread through Sam with such a swell of _safety_ that he felt his eyes burn. He nodded when Dean continued to gaze at him, clearly waiting for a response.

"Good deal," he let go of Sam's hand to pull a bottle of apple juice from the floor and twist it open, "I need you to drink some of this. Can you do that? Or do you want water?"

Sam grimaced and wrapped his free arm around his queasy stomach.

"Have you had any food or drink since...you left?" Dean asked, sounding confident he already knew the answer. Sam shook his head. "I didn't think so. You need the hydration and the sugar, dude. That's why your stomach hurts. I've got some crackers in the glove box too. Here, just a few sips."

The bottle was held up to his cracked lip and Sam felt the cold liquid slosh against the dry skin. He pulled back to lick it off and the tart sweetness of the juice hit him all at once. Suddenly, he wanted more and Dean saw the change. He brought the drink back and carefully let Sam drink from it.

"Easy there, small sips. You know guzzling it will make you sick." Half the bottle was gone before Dean drew it away. "Okay, let's see how that sits with you for a minute and then you can have the rest. Are you feeling more awake?"

Sam looked around and recognized where he was for the first time. Mary sat watching them from the front seat and she lit up when he faced her. He returned the smile and was surprised at how easy it was to do so. Peering out the back window and saw a group of people including...Jody Mills? He turned to Dean with a bewildered expression, silently asking the question.

Dean waited a second, like he was hoping Sam might speak, but then simply grinned and nodded, "Yeah, Jody's here. We got sealed into the bunker and had to call for help. And she brought some friends. You'll like them. Twins, who were raised by a witch and a hunter. They're how we found you."

Movement drew his attention to the space through the open door behind Dean and Gabriel crouched down by them. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," the archangel said in relief, "What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?"

He started to nod eagerly, but then he remembered what was still out there past the cars and yard. Sam's eyes darted to the building and a cold chill swept over him. He couldn't stop himself from squeezing Castiel's hand. His gaze shifted between the clinic and his brother, hoping he'd understand.

Luckily, Gabriel read his expression as well. "They're gone, Sam. Heaven has them in custody and you will never see them again." There was a finality to his tone that rang with power and confidence. Sam didn't know if he believed it but he sure wasn't going back in to check. All he wanted now was to leave and get far away from this place. He gave Gabriel a short nod.

Dean grinned, "Perfect. I say we go home, eat a shit-ton of leftovers, and sleep for a week." He started to slide out of the car when Sam reached out and clutched his sleeve, pulling him closer. "Whoa. What's wrong?"

But Sam couldn't answer. He was too distraught over the idea of Dean leaving his sight for even a second. Even just to move to the front seat. If Dean left, reality always followed until Sam was alone again in the frozen dark. He wrenched his hand away from Castiel and grabbed at his brother's collar.

"I believe he'd prefer you stayed with him," Castiel said with a smile, already moving to shift Sam into Dean's arms.

"But who's gonna..." Dean started to ask even as he automatically gathered Sam closer.

"Mary can drive the Impala. I will sit up front so Gabriel can provide assistance or healing. Be sure you do not touch his shoulder blades. They are too painful and sensitive for him to handle any pressure." Castiel laid out the solutions calmly and no one could argue against them. He opened the car door and climbed out, gently closing it as Dean scooted over to take his seat. Leaning into his brother, Sam allowed the scent of gunpowder and cheap soap to surround him.

"I'll be right back too," Mary said quietly and slipped out of the car.

Gabriel carefully got in next to them. Gathering a folded blanket, the archangel placed it on his own lap. "While Cassie rounds up the troops, how about I take a peek at that foot, hmm?" He patted the blanket casually but the look in his eyes betrayed his nervousness.

Sam tried to tuck his toes away from view, but Dean sided with the archangel. "Listen, dude, it's a three hour drive if _I'm_ at the wheel. Probably longer with Mom driving. I know you don't want to be fooled with, but this isn't something I can fix with some burn cream. So let's get you comfortable and then Gabe can do his 'hair-brushing' thing on your foot, okay?"

There was a moment of internal struggle. Sam's impulses were all firing in contradiction to each other. He didn't want to be touched, yet the mere thought of sitting alone had him clinging harder to his brother's shirt. He couldn't bring himself to talk, but each second of silence made encroaching memories unbearable. He wanted to hide from all angels and go against his grace that even now was searching for comfort.

"Please, Sam. You don't need to be in pain," Gabriel pleaded softly. His eyes were already swirling with gold grace.

Sam felt his own respond with a strong _tug_ in his chest and he swallowed hard. " **I ask, you stop?** " he whispered hoarsely. The archangel's eyes widened in delight at the sound of his voice. Sam blushed, feeling like talking was such a ridiculous thing to get stuck on. Usually, only Dean witnessed his mute periods on their worst days.

" **I will absolutely stop,** " Gabriel assured with a smile, echoing his words from their first time grooming.

Sam studied the archangel before consenting. "Okay."

Gabriel's relief was tangible as he exhaled in a noisy rush of air. "Oh thank Dad!" he whispered to the car roof, then turned golden orbs on Sam, "Alright, prop your toesies up right here. I'm need to see what we're dealing with first. I'll ask before I touch anything, okay?"

Slowly, Sam turned and laid on his side, letting Dean's arms support him the same way Castiel had done. Once he was ready, he brought his legs up and placed them tenderly on the blanket. The movement sent flares of hot pain along his bones, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Oooow!" Gabriel grimaced at the seared sole, "That's no little suntan. Physically, this is a solid third-degree burn. But it goes all the way to your grace. That's what hurts so bad—the nerves are gone but your grace still feels it all."

"Can you heal it?" Dean worried.

"Bodies aren't a problem. Grace is a lot more complicated and takes longer to heal. I may need to consult with a professional," Gabriel glanced out the window and surprise flashed across his face. Sam followed his gaze to see Raphael walking into the building again—with Castiel and Mary. "But for now, may I use a bit of grace here, Sam?"

Sam fidgeted nervously. He knew Gabriel was referring to the other archangel, and he wasn't ready to let the stranger close enough to touch. " **Only you?** " he asked, barely audible against Dean's shirt.

"Yes, only me. We'll talk about the next steps in your healing later, after we're home and more comfortable. Right now, it's just you and me and Deano. Your mom and Cas will be back in a minute. Okay?"

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Gentle fingers wrapped around Sam's right ankle, holding firm when he automatically kicked. "Only me, Sam." A cool breeze flowed into his body, calming the raw nerves. Sam's grace gathered high in his chest and shoulders, coiling away from the intrusion. " **It is alright. Breathe nice and slow for me. Good, very good. No need to push—your grace is confused and upset. Just breathe and relax. It will remember me.** "

Sam wanted to ask what that meant but he was too focused on breathing around the pressure in his chest. The moving current eased the muscles in his legs and billowed through his body, skirting the balled-up grace. Eventually, the tight bundle of energy seemed to realize that Gabriel was not there to cause pain. It unwound itself enough to tentatively reach toward the archangel and Sam suddenly understood Gabriel's phrasing. There was a surge of electric joy as it rushed to meet him, swirling around the ancient power that patiently allowed the frenzied reaction. He heard the deep chuckle that echoed under Gabriel's human voice. " **I missed you too, Samuel.** "

Gradually, his grace calmed under the steadying influence of the archangel. Cool, healing energies alleviated the throbbing in his right thigh where he'd been kicked. Pain dissolved into memory, leaving only a pleasant tingling in its place. He reveled in the sensation and felt the fear of the last twenty-four hours finally start to yield.

Hesitantly, Sam tried to allow himself to accept the possibility of all this being real. ' _Where exactly did you think you were going? How long do you think you can hold out?'_ He took a shuddering breath and gulped in Dean's scent.

Gabriel responded to the spike in turmoil by increasing the flow of grace. "Shh, it's alright. You're safe now. Here comes Cassie and your mom. Looks like we're ready to go." Sam felt doped up with his buzzing skin and lack of discomfort. The archangel was definitely more effective than whatever prescriptions they kept stocked. He heard the front doors open and the car rocked as the others got in. "Hey you two! Are we good to go?"

"Yep," Mary sounded shaky, "Jody's gonna lead the way back to the bunker. I don't trust a computer giving directions from your phone. Plus, I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to push our chances of getting stopped by the police for recklessly driving at excessive speeds."

"Raphael will follow from the sky," Castiel added. There was a pause, and then he asked, "How is he?"

"Doing better. He's letting me take care of the pain."

Fatigue weighed heavy in Sam's limbs, but his mind felt almost too light as it flitted around. Thoughts refused to settle on any one thing. He shifted around every few minutes just to know he could. And to keep his circulation going—staying still invited the chill to creep back into his extremities.

The engine roared to life, sending vibrations through the air. Sam sighed as they started moving. The Impala's purr blended with Gabriel's grace-hum and his brother's heartbeat to wrap him in music better than a lullaby.

* * *

Gabriel watched Sam calm at the rumble of the engine. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Castiel that fledglings liked to cocoon when upset, but it wasn't entirely an emotional response. Young grace was hypersensitive and easily overstimulated. Buffering their sensory input was a built in coping mechanism for when things got to be too much.

Traditionally, caretakers swaddled the stressed child in grace until its hum was all they heard. It never failed to calm the younger angels, but Gabriel didn't think the boy would tolerate being wrapped in grace like that yet. Instead, he shared a smile with Castiel as Sam responded to the Impala like she was his caretaker.

"Is he asleep?" Mary whispered.

Dean let out a quiet laugh, "Are you kidding? We'll be lucky if the four of us manage to get him to sleep by tomorrow morning." Sam frowned into his brother's shirt as Dean brushed the sweaty mess of hair away from Sam's face. "Sometimes, he can't shut off after intense shit. It was easier before we had the bunker. When we lived in the Impala between motel rooms and he got like this, I could just drive around until he conked out."

The boy blinked up at his brother's face where a light blush accompanied the admission. Dean gave him a goofy grin and kept brushing his hair. Sam shot back with a better bitch-face than Gabriel thought possible under the circumstances. "God, don't forget my bottle when you have to rock me," he slurred, which voided any ground made with his scowl.

The car swerved slightly as Mary gave a startled laugh. "Sorry! I wasn't expecting that."

Gabriel joined with his own giggles and they all sounded borderline hysterical. "I think someone is cranky," He teased and allowed some of that giddiness to echo over his connection with Sam—not to change the boy's mood, but to reassure him with some lightheartedness.

"I think I'm allowed to be cranky," Sam mumbled but his lips firmed like they were fighting a grin. Gabriel felt him become restless now that his eyes were open.

"Speaking of bottles," Dean pulled the juice from where it sat wedged in the seat, "How's the stomach doing? You want more to drink?"

"Yeah. I want to sit up," Sam said and struggled to make his boneless limbs work.

"Hold on. Let _me_ , you tiny drunk. I got ya." Dean's words were gruff, but his touch was soft. He and Gabriel worked together to get Sam upright and supported. Once vertical, the boy took his time blinking owlishly at everyone. Castiel had turned around in the front seat and Mary was white-knuckling the steering wheel while sneaking glances through the rear-view mirror. Dean held the bottle out and Gabriel unscrewed the lid—neither of them willing to give up the hand connected to Sam.

"Gabe," Sam said after a few drinks, "you may need to dial it back a few notches. I think it's a lil' strong."

Gabriel frowned, "Are you sure? I'm already using less than you need." If they were in Heaven, a soldier with wounds like Sam would have been placed in a healing trance. But the kid didn't trust on that level.

"Dean's right, 'm slurring," he shook his head as though to clear it, "Can't con-conc...pay 'tention."

Castiel leaned closer over the seat, "What do you need to concentrate on?"

Sam tilted his head and tried to focus on the blue eyes, "What?"

"Why do you need to pay attention?" he reiterated.

The boy seemed distressed over the question. He gazed around the car, stopping on Gabriel. "Cassie's trying to tell you that it's okay to not concentrate on things. There are enough people here to be on guard for you."

"No," Sam insisted, "I can't think straight. There are others...what if they..."

Gabriel looked at Dean, unsure of what Sam needed to hear. The hunter was already on it, "Sam, you can't think straight because you're tired and injured. Have you slept at all?"

Sam shrugged and dropped his gaze to where Gabriel still held his ankle. "Got knocked out for a bit. Dunno how long."

"Unconsciousness ain't the same as sleep. Did your skull get cracked?" Dean asked while searching his brother's scalp for injury.

"My head hit a few things," Sam answered quietly without looking up, "but I passed out—they burn'd my foot. When I woke up, everything had exploded 'round me and they were on the floor."

Gabriel was more convinced that the holy fire was the cause of Sam's grace explosion and wing development. He almost wished he had gone into the building to pay the bastards a visit, but Sam was his priority now—not vengeance. "That doesn't sound fun. What did they want?" He kept his tone light and started to rub the boy's ankle, pushing more healing energy into the foot while he still was allowed.

Sam shuddered and fear skittered along their connection. "Me to obey," he whispered after a few heartbeats of silence, "He was mad I tried to run."

Dean made a face. "Well, they didn't know you very well if they expected you to behave," he said with a huff and pulled the boy closer. "That's never been the Winchester way."

"They did, though," Sam said distantly, "They knew all of us. Knew our names and faces. Knew I had grace. Knew Mom and Gabe were back. He watched us for days. They got other angels before n'studied 'em. They've weapons and knowledge. They said..."

"What did they say, Sam?" Dean asked calmly. Gabriel felt the anxiety rise though Sam and saw him resume digging into his palm. Whatever these people had said or done, it was enough to make the boy question reality. "Hey," Dean intervened by placing his own between the two tiny hands, "I'm right here, remember? Stone number one. We got you out, Sam. You're safe, okay?"

The words sounded like an often repeated mantra between the two. Sam sniffed and looked up at his brother. Trembling worked its way down his arms as he confessed, "They said you and mom were dead. That they'd killed you both, and I'd never see Gabe or Cas again."

"You...you thought we were all dead?" Dean went still and pale.

Sam tried to shrug but it came out more like a full-body shudder. "I dunno. I saw Gabe get blown 'way by somethin' powerful. And when no one showed up right away, I knew the blast had got'n Cas too. I'd no way of knowing 'bout anyone."

"Well, obviously they lied because we're all fine," Dean said into Sam's hair.

Sam was flushed and Gabriel felt the boy's grace begin to churn out heat. The archangel acted immediately, cooling the energies to try and balance it out. He couldn't tell if it was the burn affecting it or if the grace was responding to something else. There were too many possibilities between his wings manifesting, sleep deprivation, and torture. The problem was the lack of precedent here.

 _Gabriel, he looks ill. Can fledglings get sick?_ Castiel's worry echoed the archangel's own.

 _Not the ones made and raised in Heaven—they never suffered more than a bruise from clumsy flying. But they also never had pieces of a human soul melded with their grace. Or been tortured into growing wings this early. No angel has ever even had a vessel to feel things physically until they were fully grown. We're dealing with a lot of firsts here._ Gabriel started making a mental list of things to discuss with Raphael as soon as possible.

"You're feeling a little warm there, dude. You okay?" Dean's voice brought them back to the present.

"C-cold," was all Sam could stammer out as he tried to get closer to his brother.

"Aww, man, you're pouring sweat," the hunter looked torn between concern and disgust as the boy grew frustrated at not finding enough heat, "Gabe, what's wrong with him?"

"His grace is ramping up heat, but I don't know why. I'm trying to cool it down, but it's fighting me." Gabriel explained even as Sam's grace tried to pull away from him.

 _With grace so young, how would it react if cut off from conscious guidance and placed in near freezing conditions?_ Castiel asked silently. Gabriel could almost hear the wheels spinning in the seraph's mind.

 _Freezing conditions?_ He saw the blue eyes harden and bit his tongue to keep from reacting to the depth of anger and sadness found there.

 _The room was thirty-eight degrees. I am sure that even without a connection, his grace would recognize the threat to its vessel._

 _You think his grace is instinctively still trying to warm him up?_ Gabriel perked up at the theory.

 _Or it's reacting to the memory of cold. Sam associates low temperatures with Lucifer, which may be complicating things,_ Castiel speculated, looking back at the boy. "Sam, was it very cold where they kept you?" the seraph asked gently. Sam's body tensed and Gabriel felt the heat increase. He nodded at Castiel.

"You think it made him sick?" Dean asked, unaware of the angels' silent conversation.

"We think his grace is confused and can't recognize that the danger of freezing has passed," Gabriel explained, "I'm going to try something. If it doesn't work, though, we're gonna have to stop and get Raphael."

Dean startled at the seriousness of the statement. They all knew Gabriel wouldn't delay their journey home and involve the other archangel unless absolutely necessary. The hunter looked at his sweat-soaked brother. "What will you do?"

"Instead of trying to make his grace cool, I'll warm mine up. Maybe his will relax if it finds a stronger heat source," he slowly began to transition the temperature of the energy flow, "I think that's why he's trying to crawl inside your chest right now, but it isn't working because you don't run hot enough."

Sam stopped pressing closer to Dean as the warmth drew his attention. Fever-bright eyes turned to Gabriel and there were flashes of grace mixed with glossy hazel. The archangel gave him a reassuring smile, recognizing that Sam's adult mind was quickly getting buried under pure instinct, " **Is that what you wanted, little one? Something warm and safe?** " The boy whined in the back of his throat and reached for Gabriel, who chuckled and tried to return the little hands back to Dean. " **It is okay, Samuel. Sit with your brother and I will keep you warm.** Or not, that's cool too. Hold on, kid, let us help..." The back seat became a flurry of motion as Sam swung his feet off the blanket and launched himself at Gabriel.

"Do I need to pull over?" Mary asked.

"No, no, we're good," Gabriel answered as Dean helped him get Sam better situated.

"Yeah, Sam just decided to try a different seat by throwing himself into it," Dean said with a exasperated sigh.

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent snuggler!" Gabriel exclaimed. He raised the temperature of his grace even more and was relieved to feel Sam's slow its race toward combustion. The boy was kneeling on the blanket and plastered pitifully into Gabriel's chest. " **There you go—warm and safe with your family in your little home. Calm down now.** " He got an arm under Sam's thighs and hoisted him up a bit so the kid didn't have to hold his own weight.

Sam melted against him as the chills died down and his color returned to normal. His grace contentedly curled under Gabriel's continued stream of kindling energy. Once it was clear the boy was settled, Gabriel draped a wing around them without touching the underdeveloped buds. It was the closest he could get to emulating traditional grace-swaddling.

Gabriel met his brother's eyes over the headrest. _What else did you find in that building?_

 _It looked like a clinic for animals. There was a cage with restraints built into the floor. I am not certain what all was done to Sam or the condition of the room prior to his grace explosion, but the inside was very cold and damp. The fire sprinklers had also been pouring down water for over an hour before I entered. I found a laptop that seemed intact. It had been knocked under a table and mostly shielded from the water. Raphael retrieved the Tear of God used to banish us. Everything else seemed more or less destroyed._

 _Thank you for doing that, Cassie. I...I just couldn't._ Gabriel brought his free hand to the back of Sam's hair and played with the curls.

Castiel offered a small smile. _I understand, brother._

Gabriel wanted to ask about the seraph's conversation with Raphael, but the silence in the car was lingering. And silence gave Sam's thoughts too much space to wander. The rest could wait until later. "Hey Sammy, you wanna hear a story?" he asked in a conspiring whisper. The boy gave a sleepy nod. "Well, let me tell you about how Cassie and I broke a comet in Barnard's galaxy."

And with that, Gabriel spun the tale of their brief, but rapid, space exploration. He painted a picture of beautiful sights and unimaginable experience. Castiel's voice joined in occasionally to add details unnoticed by Gabriel. Every word captured Sam's complete attention, and he listened in awe-struck silence. Between the two of them, the angels made sure there was no room for thoughts of fear the rest of their journey home.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

This is the last part to the dark "In the Valley of the Shadow" arc.

Prepare yourself for vicious amounts of fluff, healing, and wingy-stuffs.

Sorry for the slight delay in posting.  
Holidays-what can you do (besides crawl into a cave and wait them out)?  
Hope everyone had a blessed time ringing in the destruction of 2016...I mean the arrival of 2017.  
Always Keep Fighting, folks!

Come be my friend on Tumblr under the name, TheRiverScribe  
And don't forget to feed a writer's soul with a comment or two!


	18. After the Storm pt1

_But there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.  
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.  
Get over your hill and see what you find there,  
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair._

-From _After the Storm_ by Mumford and Sons

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
Enochian is in bold.**  
 _Thoughts/angel-radio/telepathy is in italics._

* * *

 **AFTER THE STORM** **  
PART 1: NIGHT HAS ALWAYS PUSHED UP DAY  
**

It was almost eleven o'clock in the morning when the Impala and Jeep pulled in front of the bunker. Sam hadn't moved from his place against Gabriel once the archangel began to narrate his adventures in space. Listening to the dramatic retelling, he found himself questioning just how many details were getting elaborated. But Castiel always chimed in or nodded eagerly along, and Sam would once again be swept up in the fantastic tale.

Once their intergalactic travels were thoroughly exhausted as a topic, Gabriel moved on to other similarly outlandish stories that involved his time among the pagan gods. The trip home was filled with laughs and gasps from the exhausted group. Sam almost hoped it would never end—that he could just rest there in the safety of the Impala's backseat, surrounded by voices he knew and loved, and use Gabriel as a personal heat rock forever. The constant buzzing along his skin from the low-level grace work certainly didn't hurt.

But he knew it couldn't last. Now that his grace wasn't cooking his insides, Sam's self-awareness crept in. He was increasingly conscious of the fact that lounging against another person was not something he would have done three weeks ago. And yet he'd spent the past four hours being held in turn by Castiel, Dean, and Gabriel. Not that it wasn't comfortable, but it was weird. How long was the archangel planning to baby him? The thought only grew as he realized how disgusting he smelled and felt and looked—and he discovered them in that order.

The engine cut off, and the silence disturbed. "Come on, bud. Let's get you inside," Gabriel said as they climbed out of the car. Sam heard car doors opening and footsteps following them, but Gabriel didn't slow down until they were all the way down the stairs. Lifting his head from the warm chest, he saw maps and books and papers and spell items strewn across the war table and floor.

Sam's jaw dropped at the mess. Was that a pile of _hair_?

"Whoa," Gabriel breathed, then turned to the others filing in behind them, "What were you doing, trying to _summon_ Sam? Or...no, location spell. But very non-traditional." His eyes cataloged the leftover ingredients.

"It's a variation of our own special tracking spell. We hunt a lot of soul-selling witches who know how to guard against the predictable magics," the unknown woman said as she glided down the stairs.

"We had to get creative when we found out there was grace involved, but it worked. If not, we had a backup plan ready to go," the man following her added.

"Three backup plans," the woman corrected.

"Three backup plans and an entire library worth of potential knowledge to reform into other backup plans," the man agreed.

"Impressive," Gabriel whistled, "You'll have to share some of those with me later on. For now, I'm going to see about getting this one cleaned up." Sam felt himself be bounced slightly and his glare only got him a mild chuckle.

"You guys are welcome to stay," Dean said as he threw his bag onto a chair, "We have lots of spare rooms and enough food to last us all for weeks."

Mary stepped forward, "I'll show them around. You guys take care of Sammy." She smiled at him and whispered, "I love you," before leading the others toward the kitchen. Sam could only stare after her, wanting her to stay.

Dean glanced back up at the bunker entrance. "Gabe, where's your brother?" Mention of the other archangel had Sam tensing, but not with the terror Raphael's presence had first brought that morning. He just wanted to pretend he'd woken from a nightmare and that things would return to normal by lunch. Raphael was a reminder that so much had changed in twenty-four hours.

"He's waiting outside. I asked him to give us all a chance to settle first. Until then, he can stand guard," Gabriel answered as they walked to Sam's room.

Everything was exactly how they'd left it the morning before—blankets strewn everywhere, sheets hanging off the bed, pillows in the floor. Sam shivered, remembering the dreams that seemed so long ago. Had that really been the last time he'd slept?

"What would you like to wear today, Sam?" Castiel asked, and a tiny thrill ran through Sam's grace. The angel had started repeating the question every morning since their brothers fought over who got to dress him. Usually, they would make a little show of picking combinations they knew neither older sibling would appreciate. Dean and Gabriel liked to send them mock glares which led to rowdy breakfasts. Until yesterday.

Sam blinked and tried to remember what was in the drawers. Vague images of color and cloth passed through his mind, but nothing registered. He leaned back from Gabriel to see what clothes he even had on. It was the shirt Shepard had given him that morning—it smelled like the clinic and he realized it probably belonged to the British torturer. That thought made Sam's stomach lurch up into his throat and he swallowed through the rising nausea.

' _Do monsters get to wear pants?'_ Sam shook his head hard, hoping to silence Shepard's voice in his head.

"You do not wish to wear anything?" Castiel tried to clarify, misreading the gesture.

There was a spark of panic at the idea of not getting to wear clothes again, but then Sam took in the earnest bewilderment on the seraph's face and he caught himself. No one was going to deny him clothes here. In fact, Castiel seemed to be headed toward accepting Sam's choice even if he clearly didn't understand it. The fear transformed into a half-laugh. He startled himself with the sound and saw Dean glancing between him and Castiel.

With a small knowing smile, Dean knelt down and opened the drawers. As he pulled out a handful of shirts, Castiel frowned, "Dean..."

"Cas, I know, and I'm with you. But Sam's not quite up to answering how you want him to," Dean explained. He stood and held the shirts up for inspection. Sam stared at them without moving. "Sam, pick a shirt," his brother said, encouraging but firm.

The color green stood out—same as the forest and Dean's eyes. He pointed to it and his brother nodded. The shirt was slung over Dean's shoulder and the rest of his armful got dumped back in the drawer. Sam tried not to wince at the disorder. They repeated the process to pick a pair of thick, flannel pants, and Dean grabbed underwear and socks without making him choose.

"Bath or shower, Sammy?" Dean asked as they made their way toward the bathroom.

"Bath, definitely," Gabriel answered instead, "His foot isn't completely healed. It will probably be tonight before he can stand without it hurting, but right now it's just newly-grown nerves and a couple layers of skin. I can seal it in grace to keep the water from touching it, but no weight until I give the go-ahead, okay?"

The last part was aimed directly to Sam, but his mind was stuck on the 'shower or bath' question, and all he could think about was nearly drowning under the pressurized spray of ice water. Cold crept into his chest and Sam pressed a little closer to Gabriel without answering. He saw the others share a look, but no one commented.

Castiel parted ways with them at the bathroom, citing limited space and went to check on the others. For a second, Gabriel just stood there holding him while Dean started the water in the claw-foot bathtub some poor soul had lugged underground decades ago. The scent of lavender and mint filled the billowing steam.

Under the sound of running water, the archangel whispered, "Okay, confession time—I _really_ don't want to let you go right now and I doubt your grace is gonna be happy, but I need to put you down so we can get you cleaned up. Think we can do it?"

Sam couldn't keep his gaze away from the faucet. Each time, he became surrounded by the rushing water echoing off tiled walls. It was too intense a sound to safely ignore. He nodded, answering Gabriel. The archangel loved to play up the mother hen role, but he'd kept it going for hours.

Sam knew it was time to pull it back together and move on. Shit happened to them all the time, and this would have been treated like any other hunt if he'd been adult-sized. Dean may have fussed a little to work off the worried nerves from Sam going missing, but he definitely wouldn't be caught dead drawing a bubble bath for his brother.

Reluctantly, Sam allowed himself to be sat next to the sink and wondered when Dean was going to start making fun of his newfound clinginess. Gabriel didn't completely let go, maintaining contact with both hands. Sam's grace _wasn't_ happy about the separation and rolled in frustration. Gabriel breathed out slowly like he was exhaling a drag from a cigarette and the room's temperature warmed considerably.

"Shit, Gabe, are you trying to smother me?" Dean asked, already drenched in sweat.

"Sorry, Deano. But Sam's grace is two seconds away from trying to cook him again because I put him down and I don't think any of us are quite ready for communal bathtime," Gabriel winked at Sam as Dean sputtered outrage about bad mental pictures. The water shut off and it felt like a large pressure suddenly lifted in the silence. "Alright, Sam, let's get this _thing_ off you."

Careful hands peeled the soiled shirt off one limb at a time and Sam's throat burned with unspoken gratitude at not being made to lift his arms. He heard simultaneous gasps when the hem cleared his head and he saw matching expressions of horror and badly concealed rage. Gabriel's eyes stared at a place behind Sam, and it took him a second to realize he was sitting in front of a mirror.

Sam's arms crossed over his bruised chest, but Dean stepped forward and coaxed them back down. Fingers trailed lightly down his side. "Damn, kid."

 _Not a kid,_ Sam frowned and tried to look over his shoulder, but twisting made his skin feel tight.

"What...How..." Gabriel kept starting but breaking off, too upset, "What did they do?"

Sam shrugged. _They_ had done a lot of things. He couldn't tell if Gabriel was referring to a specific injury or the overall image he presented. Dean's touch ghosted across his lower back and Sam leaned away with a grunt of pain.

"Raphael said they used some stick on you—from Olive's sisters' tree, or something," Dean said, crouching down to be eye-level with Sam. They searched each others' faces. Sam found the familiar regret and anger that spawned whenever Dean felt he'd failed to protect his brother. There was no telling what Dean saw.

"The Sisters Olive trees?" Gabriel shook his head and threw the shirt into the trashcan, "That's how they bruised your grace?"

Sam shrugged again, and felt his face and neck burn in embarrassment. God, having Gabriel alongside Dean in a post-danger protective frenzy seemed to somehow equal four of his brother. Dean took the archangel's similar attitude as permission to go further into overdrive. Sam wasn't used to such an intense reaction from others over some bruises. Granted, the burn had been horrible, but it was practically healed. Or he at least couldn't feel it anymore.

"How do you want to do the pants, dude?" Dean asked, swallowing down probably a dozen other things he'd rather say.

Sam pointed to the floor next to the bathtub. He'd handle his own pants, thank you. He just needed to lean against something.

"No standing on that foot, Sam," Gabriel reminded him. Sam clenched his jaw and jabbed his finger at his own bruised chest, then back toward the floor. If he walked all the way from the cage to the driveway at the animal clinic, then he could certainly stand on one foot to take off some pants. Gabriel just raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, you two," Dean picked Sam off the counter and sat with him on the toilet lid, "Sam, can you stand without putting weight on that foot?" Sam nodded, desperate to not have others stripping him. "Then let me help you balance and you do your thing."

Sam glanced at Gabriel, worried he'd anger the archangel by going against the clear order. But he saw the whiskey-brown eyes soften. "Yeah, we won't let you fall. Just be careful." Gabriel stepped closer.

"Check the water temp real quick—is it too hot?" Dean leaned Sam forward so he could dip his hand through the bubbly surface. It took every ounce of strength to not dive right in, clothing be damned. It wasn't quite the 'just shy of scalding' that Sam preferred, but it was still amazing. He reached a little further to immerse his forearm. "Whoa there!," Dean laughed and pulled him upright again, "Not headfirst and not wearing these filthy clothes."

Slowly, he helped Sam slide off his lap. When his left foot touched the tile, Sam thought his leg would give out but Dean's hands held him until the muscles stopped shaking. He made quick work of the pants, trying to remember that nudity wasn't anything new to either his brother or the ex-pagan god.

Gabriel helped keep the fabric from catching on the still-healing skin, and there was a tingling that encompassed the entire right foot. "There, that should keep the water from interfering with my work. I've set the grace to continue the accelerated healing. It may feel like pins and needles soon as the nerves reconnect, but nothing should hurt. If it does, you tell me immediately. Agreed?"

Sam nodded—he definitely didn't want that pain returning. As soon as the pants cleared his toes, Dean lifted him up, "Alright, dude, into the water and under the bubbles so no one loses their modesty."

Finally, he sank into the hot water and almost cried at how good it felt. There was no stopping the groan when he curled forward and pushed his arms under the bubbles. The skin twinged for less then a second before heat saturated all his limbs. Water sloshed against his back and he hissed as it burned against the welts. He straightened up to keep as many of them out of the bath as possible.

"Careful," Gabriel said unnecessarily.

Sam huffed. Someone handed him a washcloth and he gingerly wiped away the hours of sweat and dirt and blood that had caked to his skin. He resisted the urge to scrub until the skin peeled away, knowing his hypersensitive sentinels would never allow it.

Gabriel leaned against the wall with a contemplative look, "It might be easier to wait and wash your hair after the bath to keep your back dry. You could just lean over the tub while we use the shower head...No!"

Sam didn't remember moving. One second he was calmly sitting, and the next, he was half-way over the porcelain edge, aiming to wedge himself between the massive beast and the wall. Two arms suddenly appeared around his waist and chest from _above_ , suspending him above the water, and Sam fought to get free.A drowsy peace settled like a heavy blanket around him and he felt himself go boneless. He blinked down at the bubbles—they were all glowing gold.

"What the...that was..." Dean stammered, near hysterics, "Both of you get off the damned tub before my chest explodes!" Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Gabriel's sneakers perched solidly on either side of the tub.

"Calm down, Deano, and unfold the towel. Bathtime's over," Gabriel said softly as he stepped over and down.

Sam closed his eyes against the disorienting view. The water dripping off his skin felt like ice and the voices merged with a distant torrential roar. He wanted to ask what had happened and why breathing was so difficult. All that came out was a choked, " **Please!** " A strange resonance dulled the cold and kept his body mostly relaxed.

" **You are safe, Samuel. Just breathe** ," Gabriel's voice stayed low and held a hint of power. "Dean, towel. Here we go, Sam."

Hands transferred him face-down onto another set of arms draped in soft cloth. The fabric wrapped around his legs and sides, crisscrossing over his lower back. When they shifted him again, Sam found himself upright with his head resting on a shoulder. " **Please, no,** " he whispered under the growing sound of rushing water.

" **Hush, little guy. It is all over. You are home.** " A hand moved to the back of Sam's head. His scalp felt crusty with all the filth stuck in the tangled strands. Fingers ran through the curls. A tingling flowed over his head and the grime disintegrated, leaving a stronger scent of lavender and mint behind. Sam sighed into the sensation and felt the tangles fall away from the fingers. " **There, that is a lot better, right?** " Gabriel whispered.

" **Please? Please no?** " Sam repeated the words, but they had become meaningless sounds that felt important.

" **What do you not want, hmm**?" Gabriel asked, swaying back and forth in a way that felt completely foreign to Sam.

The rushing sound had stopped. Sam opened his eyes expecting a cement floor and metal bars and was surprised to see the walls of the bunker bathroom. A jolt of memories crashed him back to the present. He sucked in a breath, " **Gabriel?** "

The archangel looked down, his vessel's face blurry from the swirls of golden grace but the smile came through clear. "Sam-shine! Are you with us now?"

Nodding, Sam swallowed and tried to push down his humiliation so he could speak. It was still hard to get enough air. " **Sorry. I not mean to...** "

"Hey, hey! None of that," Gabriel shushed him, "You scared me—I didn't know you could move that fast."

Sam's face burned. He hid it against the towel which only served to remind him that he was naked. " **Clothes?** " his voice cracked.

"Dean's got them. You want to put those pants on?"

" **Yes, please,** " he mumbled into the towel.

Gabriel and Dean debated briefly on the best way to get him dressed. In the end, the archangel simply held Sam out from him while Dean shimmied the clothes up his legs under the towel. "How about we leave the shirt off for now?" Gabriel asked as Dean wrestled a sock onto the non-burned foot. "I don't think anything will feel very good against those shoulders until we've had the chance to work on them some."

Sam curled his toes inside the thick material. "Okay," he said, too happy with pants and a single sock to worry about the shirt. Besides, he was warm and his back _did_ hurt. Now that he knew where he was, his anxiety was draining away like the bathwater. He laid his head on Gabriel's shoulder again, too exhausted to keep upright.

They left the bathroom and made their way through the halls. "We're going to the bedroom. Your mom and Cassie are already there waiting for us." Hearing that Mary and Castiel were nearby, soon to be seen, was oddly reassuring.

"Why?" Dean's confused voice broke in as they started walking again.

"Because that's what members of a flock _do_." Gabriel answered in his patent 'you are so stupid, it's cute' tone before explaining further, "If one goes into distress, the rest rally around them. Isn't it the same for human families?"

Dean didn't answer right away, and Sam could almost hear the internal struggle happening in his brother's brain. It was the same one taking place in his own. He and Dean had no idea what happened in normal families. "I guess," Dean said, gruffly, "It's really only ever been just me and Sammy. 'Distress' is part of our everyday life. Does stitching each other up and sharing a beer count as rallying?"

"Winchesters," Gabriel swore, "Of course it counts! Treating wounds and staying close to reassure each other is what I'm talking about. It's why the others are waiting for us."

They entered a room much brighter than the halls, and Sam had to shut his eyes against it. He heard the rustling of feet and clothing.

"Is he alright?" Castiel asked.

"What happened?" Mary said at the same time.

"Everything's fine," Gabriel reassured them as he sat down, "We had to cut the bath a bit short, that's all." Sam could only imagine the faces the archangel was making to try and silently convey the disaster that had just occurred. The seat bounced as someone sat next to them.

Sam turned his head and saw his brother. It took him a second to realize they were on the small sofa in the communal bedroom. He pushed back from Gabriel's chest to look at the archangel. " **Here?** " He thought they were returning to his own bedroom.

" **Here,** " Gabriel said firmly. The archangel rarely insisted on things, but when he did there was no use debating with him. Sam knew it was better to carefully plan a counterargument and readdress the issue when things were less intense. A glance around the room showed the others hovering nervously and he sighed—it didn't look like 'less intense' was going to happen very soon.

* * *

Castiel had left the bathroom earlier because he knew Sam was a private person. To have so many adults inhabiting the small room while trying to bathe would be overwhelming, and potentially embarrassing when his friend had the chance to reflect later. So, as much as it pained him to let Sam out of his sight, Castiel went to check on the other member of their little flock.

They had gathered in the kitchen. Max stood mixing coffee with various alcohols while the three women sat in a huddle at the table. Jody's arm was draped across Mary's shoulders and Alicia held the mother's hand as they spoke in hushed tones. He sat with them and accepted a drink, surprised to be so casually included. Max had been confident that Castiel would take his coffee "just like mamma and me," and he was correct. The sweet and creamy tones added a different texture and experience than regular cream and sugar.

He had barely taken his second sip when Gabriel's voice brushed his mind. _Can you get Mary and meet us in that bedroom you put together?_ He sounded strained.

 _What is wrong?_ Castiel asked, and he half-noticed the humans falling silent when he set the mug down harder than intended.

 _He got spooked in the bath. It may have been something I said about washing his hair. I don't know, but I've got him wrapped in enough grace to stop a stampede and he's still talking._

 _And Sam is allowing this?_ Castiel frowned as he stood up, motioning for Mary to join him. He muttered a vague excuse about being summoned by his brother, and they quickly made their way to the large bedroom.

 _Sam just tried to throw himself out of a bathtub and into a wall._ Power echoed over their connection and there were ripples moving through the air of the bunker from the archangel's direction. _I didn't bind him in it, if that's what you're thinking. But if he slammed those wings into tile, it could cause enough pain for another explosion like when they burned his foot. And Dean was less than two feet away._

Castiel felt sick—he was completely out of his league in terms of Sam's current state. As a seraph soldier, he had limited understanding of what complications they were facing. The fact that Dean could potentially have been killed in the midst of a pain-induced panic attack just moments ago was beyond unsettling.

In the bedroom, Mary cornered him for answers. "Castiel, what is going on? Is Sam alright?"

"I do not know exactly. Gabriel just said Sam was upset by something during his bath and asked that we meet him here." He flipped on the lights and warmed the air with his grace.

Glancing at the room, he quickly decided it needed some adjustments. He left the two twin beds in either corner and banished the empty dressers. The third twin bed he pulled to the center and expanded it into a king. Turning, he added two more chairs across from the sofa to make a larger seating area. It seemed like the right thing to do—Gabriel would want more lounging options while healing Sam.

Mary gasped beside him. He looked at her, worried he'd done something wrong. She was staring at him in awe. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to seeing you do things like that." Castiel just smiled and looked away. He still wasn't used to reverence from a Winchester.

It took less than a few minutes, and they'd just finished shaking a quilt out over the larger bed when the others walked in. The sight of the boy stunned him into dropping the quilt and rushing over. No longer hidden in fabric, the skin on Sam's back was a mass of bruises overlaid by several thin red welts. And in the very center, along one particularly vicious looking stripe, sat two pockets of grace.

They could hardly be called wings—not these pitiful tendrils of light that seemed to be seeping from a wound. He wondered if Raphael had the ability to reverse the progress, or if the Healer would have to coax them into fully manifesting. Either prospect sounded awful, but leaving the raw grace exposed would be much worse.

A cloud of gold surrounded Gabriel and Sam, and Castiel felt the calming effects as he drew closer. He saw Dean sit beside their brothers. The hunter was clutching the shirt Sam had picked out in hands that occasionally trembled. It made Castiel wonder what exactly had happened.

"So, what's everyone else doing? Is it nap time or did they find the leftovers too enticing?"

"Max is making his coffees. We didn't make it further than the kitchen," Mary answered, sitting in one of the new chairs.

"Max is making coffee?" Dean perked up at the news.

"Yup," Mary smiled, "Castiel liked it too."

"You should, Cas. He's good at it. What did he put in yours?"

Castiel cleared his throat, "A cream from Ireland. It was very good."

"You mean to tell me you found two powerful, intelligent, badass witch hunter twins while trapped in the bunker? Found them, brought them here, and they're making alcoholic coffees? I'm so proud of you guys!" Gabriel laughed.

Sam stirred in the archangel's arms and clumsily tried to move to the seat between them and Dean. Gabriel steadied him and only Castiel could see the frantic undercurrent hidden below his brother's calm exterior. It was easy to see where the stories came from concerning Gabriel's protective nature and affection for fledglings.

 _He will not let you carry him forever, brother,_ Castiel teased silently.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and started carding his fingers through Sam's hair to maintain contact, _You wanna bet?_ Out loud, he said, "Cassie, for the love of Dad, sit down!"

Castiel lowered himself into a chair and saw Sam give him a shy smile. He returned it, "How are you feeling, Sam?"

The boy's smile became more forced and he shrugged, grimacing as the gesture pulled on his back. "Better," he answered simply.

Gabriel met his gaze, _He's not lying—he is doing much better than before. But he is not 'better.'_

Castiel nodded, acknowledging them both, "Are you hungry? Or would you like to sleep?"

Sam shook his head, not saying which one he was rejecting.

"How about we go see what's going on in the kitchen? You could use a little something in your stomach, even if it's just a glass of milk," Gabriel pushed gently. The boy shrugged again.

"You up to seeing Jody?" Dean asked. Castiel saw the corner's of Sam's mouth curl up at mention of the sheriff. Dean read it as an answer, "Awesome! Come on, Gabe. You deserve one of Max's coffees."

* * *

"You sure got some interesting friends, Jody," Alicia said.

Jody chuckled, "You two have no idea."

Max joined his sister at the table, "So Mister Blue Eyes is Castiel, right? And he's the one who's wearing your girl's daddy?"

"Yep," Jody answered, draining her coffee. Max reached behind him and brought both the whiskey and Irish cream bottles around to the table. Jody tapped the whiskey and he poured her a generous portion. "Although, his soul is in Heaven. The way I understand it, God recreated Jimmy's vessel for Castiel after Raphael killed him. And again when Lucifer killed him. And a few more times, maybe? I'm a little hazy on the resurrection count between all of them."

"And the little boy? That's really Sam Winchester?" Alicia asked.

Jody laughed, "I guess so! Never thought the words 'little boy' would ever be used to identify him. I've only known Sam as the gentle giant."

"Hmm, 'gentle giant' is not how he's usually described in hunting circles," Alicia mused without refuting the claim.

"That's because hunter's talk about the hunt. You should talk to survivors he's helped in the aftermath," Jody drained half the liquor from her mug.

"Well, he certainly isn't towering over anyone now," Max snorted.

"And the gold one is Gabriel?" Alicia refilled their whiskeys.

"Gold one?" Jody frowned, unsure why she used that phrase to describe the shorter man.

"Oh, he _glows,_ " Max agreed.

"Totally different from Castiel," Alicia added.

"Well, I met Gabriel the same time you did," Jody shrugged, "But I didn't see any glow."

Max shivered, "He is a whirlwind of energy."

Alicia nodded, "And he smells like a candy store."

"A glowing whirlwind of energy that smells like a candy store? Sounds like my kinda person!" Gabriel's voice bounced in the room as he entered with the rest of the bunker's inhabitants right behind him. Jody heard the twins both inhale sharply. Twisting in her chair she saw the archangel standing with a hand on one hip and a child balanced on the other. She still couldn't believe this tiny creature was Sam—especially not when he was clinging to someone other than Dean and staring at them all with guarded eyes.

"Yeah, I bet he's just a picture of humility," Dean said sarcastically.

"Humility, decency, sexiness..." Gabriel rattled on until Dean smacked him in the back of the head none-too-gently, "Hey! Watch it, mister. Or risk not finding any bacon in that fridge for a week."

"Max, what's this I hear about you making coffees?" the hunter asked, sidestepping Gabriel's halfhearted kick without even looking. The relaxed banter between Dean and the archangel was interesting—she knew how rare it was for the older Winchester to get that comfortable around others. The fact that he was still allowing Gabriel to carry Sam told her even more about their level of trust.

"Coming right up," Max answered breathlessly, still staring at Gabriel.

"You might want to watch the drooling," Jody whispered to him and she stifled her laugh when his sister stomped his foot.

Gabriel wriggled his eyebrows at the male witch, "Do I get a coffee too?"

A slow smirk appeared on Max's face, "Hmm, definitely. But you're gonna need a few extra ingredients."

"I usually do," Gabriel shot back.

"Oh my God, you two!" Dean yelled into the fridge, "Max, make him the damn drink so he'll shut up! Gabriel, put my brother down before you flirt that much!"

Gabriel just cackled and walked with Mary to join them at the table. They crammed in at end next to Jody and she finally got an up-close look at the boy. His hair was darker and curlier, and all the sharp angles of his face had been rounded out. But there was no mistaking those hazel eyes brimming with emotion.

"Taking your 'little brother' role a little serious there, aren't you Sam?" Jody teased softly, unsure the best way to approach her changed friend.

The big eyes blinked twice before he huffed a laugh and gave a very Sam-like grin. "Maybe. I still think Dean helped with the whole thing so he could be taller again."

Jody glanced at the older brother and heard him snort. "I'd believe that," she agreed.

"Thanks, Jody. For helping and stuff," Sam said, suddenly shy.

Jody scoffed, "I don't know how much help I actually provided. But you know me—I'm a sucker for a Winchester with a pretty face."

"Don't lie!" Dean said sternly as he brought an armload of covered dishes and platters to the table, "Mom and I were trapped here until you showed up."

"Yes, where I freed you with my clever use of turning a doorknob," she replied dryly.

"You called Alicia and Max to help us find Sammy," Mary added in a quiet, grateful voice, never taking her eyes off her son.

"Oh, Sam hasn't met them yet!" Jody realized, "Sam, this wonderful woman is Alicia Banes. And the gentleman mixing drinks is her brother, Max."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Sam," Alicia smiled from her place. Sam nodded shyly and leaned against Gabriel.

"Heads up," Dean called from the other end of the table and slid a red bowl to the archangel.

"Perfect. Thanks, Deano!" Gabriel pried the lid off one-handed and pulled the bowl closer.

"Gabe, I'm not hungry," Sam frowned at the bowl.

"Would you rather some cream of wheat or oatmeal? Something bland and hot?" Gabriel asked as he snatched what looked like a giant blackberry and popped it into his own mouth.

"Not really..."

A glass of milk appeared over Jody's shoulder and she jumped. Dean set it down next to the bowl and ruffled Sam's hair. "Drink it or you'll be that size forever."

"Dean," Sam grumbled, "I'm not..."

"You're not hungry, I know," his brother waved off the protest, "But your stomach is probably still shut down from everything. Drink that—at least it will keep you from feeling sick when it does wake up. Plus, you could use the calories." Sam stared at the glass without moving. "Now, Sam, or I get a bottle and rock you to sleep with it later."

Sam's mouth dropped open and he stammered in outrage, "Y-you, you are...you wouldn't dare!"

"Is that a challenge? Do you really think I wouldn't make Cas fly to the store and get you something covered in cartoons? Drink it, dude." Dean looked pointedly at the glass when there wasn't instant compliance.

With flaming red cheeks, Sam grabbed for the glass. His hold was weak and the glass tipped in his small hands, but Gabriel was already helping before Jody could react. He supported the glass' weight while Sam brought it to his mouth. "You're such a fucking jerk," he murmured.

Jody saw the twins do identical double-takes at the words. She was used to Sam using language—just not in such a sweet little voice. A glance at Mary showed the woman seemed unphased by it. In fact, she was looking at Dean as though waiting for something.

"Yeah, well you're a fucking bitch," Dean gave an exasperated eye roll.

Mary just shrugged when Jody looked to see her reaction, "They've been this way since I got here. That first morning, Sam threatened to kick Dean in the balls, and Dean called him a little shit. That's been pretty consistent ever since." Mary smiled fondly and glanced at Castiel who was hovering behind where Dean sat, "I was assured their behavior was normal."

" _Normal_ is not a word I've ever associated with your boys. Especially that one," Jody said with a nod toward Dean.

"Hey!" he protested, but it was ignored as Max returned with a tray of mugs.

"Here we go, folks," Max placed the steaming drinks in front of Dean and Mary before presenting Gabriel's with a small bow.

The archangel set down the milk Sam had quit sipping in favor of the whipped cream and chocolate topped mug. Jody swore she saw the caramel eyes flare gold for a second as he tasted whatever was underneath the tower of cream. Gabriel said something in a language she didn't recognize but she knew a swear when she heard one—Castiel and Sam's simultaneous blush and jolt only confirmed it.

Carefully, Gabriel placed the mug back on the table and looked down at Sam. "Kiddo, I'm gonna need some alone time with this," he said, waving his hand over the drink, "Guard your mother for me—she may get jealous and you're a good distraction."

Sam's eyes widened in brief panic, but then a warmth filled the air around the archangel. Jody felt herself relax and a heartbeat later Sam calmed too. He rolled his eyes at the floppy haired archangel and replied in more words she didn't know. Gabriel snickered and gently moved the boy into Mary's lap.

Mother and son froze, neither appearing to know what to do. Jody watched, entranced, as Mary slowly leaned forward to press her face into the soft curls. The sound of the others talking faded into the background. Mary whispered something in Sam's ear and his face broke into a grin. His body relaxed sideways into her and her arm came up around his waist.

Gabriel's hand slipped down and brought Sam's feet up to rest on his lap. "It's my new official favorite. And that's saying something because it just replaced a drink that's reigned champion for at least a few centuries." His voice brought Jody back to the conversation.

Max grinned and sipped his own coffee, "I call it an _Emerald Isle_. Espresso, steamed milk, chocolate, Irish cream, and peppermint. I couldn't do the espresso on the road, so I brewed it extra strong."

"It is perfect," Gabriel sighed.

"I know," Max stood and grabbed Sam's glass of milk, "Let me fix this for you, Sam. It's not fair that everyone else gets a special drink and you're stuck with cold milk."

"No liquor!" Dean called to him.

Max gave him a Sam-worthy side eye, "Clearly I gave _you_ too much if you think I'm that stupid." Jody laughed with the others at Dean's red faced sputtering. A minute later, Max returned with a small travel mug. The sealed top and covered drink spout made for a very dignified adult-alternative to the sippy cup. Jody was never going to look at her coffee thermoses the same again. "Here ya go. Tell me what you think."

Sam looked startled to find himself holding the silver cup and took a drink out of automatic politeness. His eyes lit up in delight and he took another longer draw. "Wow," he breathed, "That's really good."

"I thought you might like it. I make it for Alicia and I if when we need a pick-me-up. Warm milk with a little chocolate and mint. Never fails."

"Thanks," Sam said, sipping on his drink.

"Anytime, my man," Max filled a plate from the platters of food and sat back down.

"This is amazing," Alicia said around a mouthful of spinach pie.

"Gabriel's become our resident chef," Dean said, stuffing his face even faster as though not to be outdone by a lady.

Gabriel shrugged, "I'm a stress baker."

Jody absently picked at her food, enamored by the sight of Sam leaning his head against Mary. His eyes were growing heavy. Mary carefully pried his fingers away from the cup and set it on the table. Leaning back in her chair, the blonde wrapped her right arm around him as well and let out a breath.

"I suspect you would use any emotion as an excuse to cook," Castiel spoke up quietly, "You have grown quite fond of spoiling those around you."

Jody shoved a bite of kiwi to cover her smile when Gabriel blushed. His eyes moving to Sam's still form. "Shut up, Cassie," he mumbled.

"Holy shit," Dean whispered, staring at his brother, "Is he sleeping?"

"Yeah," Mary said just as quiet, "I think so."

"Oh, he's out. You sure you didn't slip him a shot of liquor?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Max.

"I'm sure," Max replied, "That boy was barely awake when you brought him in here. How are you amazed he passed out as soon as his belly was full?"

"Actually, I don't know what's got me more surprised—him being asleep or the fact that he finished your drink. Those are usually our two biggest battles after tough hunts," Dean explained, shaking his head in disbelief. "I was sure he had another twelve hours in him, minimum."

"A bath, full belly, and wrapped in a heated energy blanket—I'd sleep for a week straight." Alicia grabbed one of the infamous maple bacon doughnut, split it, and put the other half on her brother's plate.

Castiel and Gabriel's heads both shot up. "You can feel Gabriel's grace?" Castiel asked, staring at Alicia.

"If you mean the swirling cloud of sunlight that's got me half asleep all the way over here, then yes, we can feel it." Max answered wistfully.

"You can _see_ my grace too?" Gabriel sounded impressed. "Man, you two are something else."

"We know," they said together.

Jody just chuckled and stood up. Stretching out her back she said, "Well, I'm pooped. I think Sam has the right idea. Do you guys care if I crash?"

"Same," said the twins, both of whom were failing to stifle yawns.

"Come on, Cassie. It's time for all the humans to get some sleep," Gabriel stood and helped Mary to her feet with Sam.

As they made their way through the hallway, drowsily following the angels, Jody moved next to Mary. "You get some sleep too, okay? I get the feeling you'll have your hands full with both of these boys when they're rested and energized."

Mary gave her a tired smile. "At least I've got nannies who never need to sleep."

"Hear that, Cassie? We're nannies now," Gabriel whispered loudly from the front.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
Comments feed my soul!  
Come be my friend on Tumblr: TheRiverScribe


	19. After the Storm pt2

**AFTER THE STORM  
** **PART 2: YOU MUST KNOW LIFE TO SEE DECAY**

Raphael walked the grounds with slow strides once the flock disappeared behind the bricks. His bare feet crunched against leaves as he took in the Winchesters' home. How had this crumbling structure been deemed an acceptable nest for the fledgling? He would have to discuss plans for improvement with Gabriel as soon as things were settled.

In the meantime, Raphael inspected the treeline and clearing around the building. The space was filled with echoes of grace that sent shivers down his wings. Most were pleasant and he recognized his brothers' signatures. Smiling, he circled the fire pit. The flames danced over logs without consuming them and there were heated blankets strewn around—both had Gabriel's fingerprints all over them. There was a lot of joy in that spot.

But as he strode closer to the trees, he discovered a powerful scar freshly carved amid the nicer energies. Raphael knew of only one thing capable of damaging wavelengths and dimensions outside the ones humanity existed in. The Tear of God sat heavy alongside his archangel blade. It was the safest place for it to reside until the Healer could return it to Heaven. He was unsure if the humans who had wielded it were knowledgeable enough to do so safely or if everyone was miraculously lucky they hadn't demolished the continent in an ignorant misstep. Neither scenario sat well with Raphael.

Taking a deep breath of the brisk mid-day air, he stretched his senses out to exercise his renewed grace. Sparks of life, formed by the odd menagerie of human souls and angelic grace, shone bright from within the bunker. Waves of power poured off Gabriel in steadily increasing amounts as the minutes ticked by. It warmed Raphael to be reunited with the younger archangel. They had been as close as Michael and Lucifer once, and the Messenger's absence had devastated him. Still devastated him.

The patrol of angels circling high above the treeline caught Raphael's attention. He touched their minds and received a jubilant response from Michael's chosen guard. Their exuberance made him laugh.

A sudden surge of emotion and energy came from the bunker. Raphael immediately went on high-alert, and flew to the front entrance. Focusing on the source, he found Gabriel exuding massive amounts of grace and the fledgling in a frantic state. The Healer's blade dropped into his hand, taking the form of a silver staff.

 _Brother? Do you need assistance?_ he asked, preparing to fly to their side.

The second before he heard Gabriel's reply seemed infinite. _No. Not yet. Sam panicked at something I said and almost hurt himself trying to escape. But I've doused him in warm fuzzies and he's calming down. Hold on._

Raphael wasn't sure he knew the phrase "warm fuzzies," but he understood the gist of what was said. He felt his brother's turbulent emotions through their bond, ruffling his grace like wind in leaves. He pushed back with a calm and strength that grew to ground the Messenger. Finally, he heard Gabriel again.

 _We're okay. Sam is talking, which is a huge step after these kinds of episodes._

Raphael frowned. _Do they happen often?_

 _Kinda._

Before he could ask another question, an angel from the patrol appeared in front of Raphael. " **Sir, is...everything alright?** "

" **Zadkiel,** " Raphael voice rumbled and he smiled fondly at the angel of mercy, embracing him. Zadkiel tensed in his arms. The Healer sent a touch of grace to run over the soldier and felt him relax in relief. It settled something inside Raphael to have an angel react in a familiar way.

Zadkiel pulled away reluctantly, " **Sir, there was a disturbance inside the building. We were unsure how to respond. Michael only told us to make certain no one approached this location.** "

" **Did he tell you exactly who you were protecting?** " Raphael's eyes twinkled.

" **I know it involves the Winchesters and Gabriel and the cry that shook Heaven right before Michael's arrival. Is it...** " Zadkiel broke off like he expected to be rebuked for asking questions, but at Raphael's nod he continued, " **Is it true? There is a new fledgling?** "

Raphael leaned against his staff, " **It is true. And it is Samuel Winchester.** "

Zadkiel gasped, " **How...how is that possible?** "

" **Our Father deemed it so. Samuel is unique—the boy's soul was bound with grace to heal damage from the cage. But he is still struggling. The people you are protecting him from held him captive. He was hurt. That is the disturbance you felt.** " Raphael was proud of the angel when it only took a moment for the implications to set in.

" **A fledgling who carries memories and damage from Lucifer's cage? And he was hurt by _humans_? Forgive me, but why has he not been brought to Heaven? Surely it is safer for you to heal him there.** " His eyes looked over the ragged exterior of the Winchester home and his wings shifted in a display of frustrated discomfort.

Raphael's head tilted in curiosity. If some of the angels had managed to retain their compassion then perhaps Heaven wasn't as far gone as he'd feared. " **You already accept him? Enough to brave questioning this decision?** "

" **I...Yes, I...** " Zadkiel stuttered with confusion, " **Are we not supposed to accept him? You _did_ say God Himself deemed it so. Only He has the power to create new angels and restore the archangels to their full glory. Why should I not accept Samuel?** "

Raphael openly studied the seraph. " **The boy does not have a happy history with Heaven or the Host. You were told to consider him an abomination. Has that changed since my death?** "

" **Much has changed since your death, brother,** " Zadkiel answered slowly, " **We have slaughtered each other, fallen to Earth, fought ancient forces. There has been an occasional peace between Heaven and the Winchesters, but it was always tentative and fleeting. Mostly, we avoid them. But,** " he broke off and turned his gaze to the woods, " **there are many who admire Samuel's actions against Lucifer, even if they curse him for including Michael.** "

" **And you?** "

Zadkiel met Raphael's eyes. " **I have never personally met Samuel Winchester, but I remember occasionally hearing his prayers.** "

That surprised Raphael—seraphs rarely heard the prayers of humanity unless their name was specifically mentioned. And most of their names were unknown to humans. " **Really? How?** "

" **He often prayed for mercy, which was my jurisdiction. His prayers...they showed me a side I never heard described by others in the Host. And today, thanks to the Winchesters, I have _seen_ both Michael and Raphael standing before me as I have not seen them since before Lucifer's fall. And I can _feel_ Gabriel's presence once again.** "

Raphael nodded, pleased with Zadkiel's answer. " **Well then, brother, as to why we have not moved Samuel to a better location—we learned our lesson during the Apocalypse. It is not wise to try and separate these brothers. I am certain Dean Winchester would storm our gates.** "

Zadkiel cringed at the thought. " **Ah, yes, the Righteous Man. He sounds...interesting.** "

That made the Healer chuckle—"interesting" was a vast understatement. " **He certainly is that.** " Raphael did a quick check on those inside the bunker. It appeared everyone had gathered in the same space again. The child was calm, almost asleep. " **There are many reasons we are not rushing to remove Samuel. His human family is here, and they are very protective. But more importantly, Samuel does not trust us. We have given him no reason to trust us. He does, however, trust Castiel and Gabriel.** "

" **That may upset some members of the Host. Many still regard Castiel as a traitor.** "

" **He is not the only one to make mistakes that hurt Heaven,** " Raphael gave a sad smile, " **And it is all the more reason Samuel should remain where he is now. The Winchesters, Castiel, and Gabriel are a flock. They are not to be separated.** "

Zadkiel stared at him in amazement, " **Humans and angels have formed a flock? Together?** "

Raphael nodded, " **Yes. They have a strong bond. To remove Samuel would only upset him more.** "

" **Upset him** _ **more**_ **?** "

" **The humans who hurt him—they burned his grace with holy fire. It caused his wings to try and manifest early. So far, he has refused my attempts to heal him. Gabriel believes the boy will allow me to work on him once he has rested.** " Raphael wasn't as confident, but then again Samuel had surprised him several times in the past several hours.

Amazement transformed into horror on Zadkiel's face, " **They...what?! How old** _ **is**_ **he?** "

" **Almost midway through his third century.** "

" **No,** " Zadkiel whispered as his wings rose in response, " **How is it even possible?** "

" **I am not sure,** " Raphael admitted and guided the younger angel to walk with him. Now that the crisis had passed from within the bunker, he wanted to keep walking the perimeter. " **It may be the presence of his human soul. Or possibly the pain and damage inflicted on his grace. He is unique.** "

" **And powerful,** " Zadkiel added softly.

Raphael gave him a sharp look. " **Explain.** "

" **We felt the wave of grace that accompanied his cry. I have no memory of any angel, other than the archangels, who have resonated such strength,** " the seraph wrung his vessel's hands together, " **Of course, I do not know much about fledglings other than what I remember from my own youth. I was in the last generation created until today.** "

The Healer's features softened when he heard no reservations or animosity behind the words, " **Our Father used His own grace when reforming Samuel. You are correct—the child is very powerful. And I am hoping, after Michael and I have had time to work on Heaven's brokenness, that Samuel might be willing to visit the Host.** "

Zadkiel nodded and relaxed slightly, " **That would be nice. I know I look forward to meeting him. And the return of three archangels is a victory worth celebrating.** " He smiled, broad and bright.

Raphael rested his hand on Zadkiel's shoulder and directed the younger angel toward a wooden bench. " **Sit,** " he ordered, pushing him easily into the seat.

" **Sir?** " Zadkiel sounded alarmed.

" **They are settling into sleep. Gabriel and Castiel are with the child. The patrol above us are alert, and it would take an invading army to stand a chance at trying to get past us all. You are a mess—just look at you,** " he tutted disapprovingly and ran his hands in broad sweeps down Zadkiel's back, " **Are there no healers left in Heaven?** "

Zadkiel made an undignified noise as Raphael's grace sifted expertly through his wings. " **Y-yes, we still have healers. But they have not bothered with grace maintenance since before the Apocalypse.** "

Raphael's hands paused, " **They stopped basic grace work before my death?** "

" **They stopped a few centuries before the Winchesters were born. I-We thought it was by your order. Since your death, many healers were killed in civil wars. The only work they can do is heal battle wounds—the few we have left are drained themselves.** "

" **I was unaware my apathy went back that far** ," taking a shaky breath, Raphael continued his ministrations, " **Well, that is one thing that will change when I return. There is no use bringing a fledgling to a place with no caretakers. We must ensure Heaven is a home worthy of its name.** "

Without another word, the Healer made quick work of adjusting the seraph's grace. There were old wounds left unattended that needed fixing as well as an abundance of blockages due to the emotional and spiritual stress that came with surviving several years of anarchy. It was easy for Raphael to fall back into his intended role when he had a willing patient. Humming to himself, he wondered what it would take to gain Samuel's trust.

* * *

Mary Winchester held her youngest son close to her chest as she sat on the sofa in their shared room.

She stayed mindful of where her arm touched his back and kept it high enough to avoid his shoulder blades. It seemed unreal to imagine wings sprouting from her son's bruised back, but she trusted the angels' warnings.

Dean flopped flat on his back across the largest bed, groaning as his muscles sank into the mattress. "Oh God, I think I could sleep for a week."

"That does not seem like a healthy amount of sleep," Castiel whispered.

"Quit being literal and take a damn nap," Dean grumbled with his eyes closed.

"I do not require sleep, Dean," Castiel shook out a blanket that sat folded across the end of the twin bed closest to him and laid it across the hunter, "But you and Mary do. Go to sleep. Gabriel and I will keep watch while you all rest."

Mary looked up to see Gabriel perch himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. "You look pretty tired too, Mary."

"I know," she sighed, brushing soft curls away from Sam's eyes, "I'm just not quite ready to put him down yet."

Gabriel smiled, "Yeah, I know the feeling. He's not usually a big cuddler, is he?"

Her eye's darted to Dean's blanket-covered form. He was the one Sam physically interacted with the most. The brothers were almost in constant sight of each other. It was easy to tell when Sam felt uneasy because he tended to curl his fingers around whatever item of Dean's clothing he could reach. She wondered if he'd done that as an adult too.

"He was an octopus as a kid," Dean's voice was muffled by the blanket and Mary wondered if he knew she was looking at him. "He was always wrapped around my leg or back or neck. He'd sit on my feet or shoulders and want me to walk with him there."

"Sam is not like that now," Castiel said as he sat on the twin bed next to Mary.

Dean snorted, "No shit. We stopped doing piggyback rides when he was nine. Besides, it would have been kinda awkward trying to fit a six-foot-four man on my shoulders. And I'm talking awkward on _all_ levels—physical, emotional, social, probably even spiritual."

"I still can't picture him as an adult. I mean," she huffed a laugh, "I know there's an adult mind under this baby-face, but it's hard to remember unless you're listening to him talk."

The room was quiet for a second, then Dean spoke again in a softer voice. "He's totally different from how he was at this age. How he carries himself, how he moves, how he sits—it's all calculated and smaller. Six-year-old Sammy was a floppy, clumsy, talkative mess. He sprawled across beds and floors and me, and had no concept of personal space. But now," he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow to see them, "sometimes he acts like he's still a giant. Sam had a way of making himself smaller, less intimidating."

Mary's chest tightened as she pulled her boy close enough to breathe in the herbal scent of his hair. She tried to remember if she'd ever seen Sam move in any kind of carefree way. Children usually had an air of wild abandon as they learned to interact with the world. But Dean was right—Sam's movements were always calculated. She'd just assumed he'd been the same as a child.

"Hey," Gabriel whispered and laid a hand on her shoulder, "just you wait till he's healed up and learns how to use those wings and properly access his grace. Chances are we're all gonna have our hands full with a super-charged Sammy. Fledglings can't help it—there's too much joy in the discovery. And he'll feel like he's plugged into a sun's worth of energy. We'll be pulling him out of trees and off roofs and be patching up scraped knees for a while."

She smiled at the memory of that first picnic outside, cherishing the image of Sam sprinting away from Dean who pursued him with brotherly glee. Of course, seconds later had found everyone in a complete panic when Sam disappeared into the treetops. "I could do without the tree climbing. My heart may not be able to handle it."

"Don't worry," Gabriel patted her with a chuckle, "he'll have enough overbearing angels to intervene. And they'll all fight over who gets to kiss his boo-boos first."

"Why are you not including yourself in that description? Surely you would be leading such an effort and claim first-rights," Castiel deadpanned. Dean put the blanket back over his head and snickered.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Cassie," Gabriel said with a wink to Mary. Castiel merely hummed in response and gave his brother a knowing look.

"He's right," Mary said, "I mean, I know angels are supposed to protect their charges, but you seem a little...dedicated."

"And I think you're delusional from a lack of sleep," Gabriel teased. Then, he gave a long, dramatic show of yawning.

Mary couldn't stop the answering yawn from nearly unhinging her jaw. "Stop that!" she demanded when he instantly went into another and she felt herself respond again.

"I'm sorry," he yawned a third time, "what was that? You're not sleepy?" A fourth yawn followed.

Mary kicked him in the shin when she couldn't verbally reply. When she got her breath back, she had to admit defeat. Her eyes were growing heavier as her muscles were forced to relax. "Okay, okay, enough already. Should I lay Sammy down on a bed or are you taking him?"

Gabriel leaned forward and gently scooped Sam out of her arms. "I think Cassie deserves a turn," he said, "I need to go talk to Raphael. It's not a good idea to leave him out there on his own for too long. He's probably covered the yard in pillows. And bubble wrapped all the corners of the bunker. And built a safety fence around the fire pit."

Castiel looked startled but stood to take Sam from the archangel. "I would like a chance to talk with Raphael as well. Preferably before he enters the bunker or works on healing Sam."

Nodding, Gabriel placed the sleeping boy in his brother's waiting arms. Mary watched as she stood and stretched. She noted the lack of awkwardness, and marveled at how natural the younger angel was now at holding Sam. When had he lost that new-dad-panic he'd displayed early on?

"Raise your true temperature a bit. He rests a lot better if there's really warm grace to latch onto," Gabriel whispered as he fussed over them, "There you go. Here, sit down and I'll get a blanket."

"Oh yeah, I'm definitely delusional. You aren't dedicated at all." She skirted the pillow that suddenly swung her way. It missed her and hit Dean instead.

"Hey!" he grumbled loudly.

She glanced at Sam and saw him shifting against Castiel. The angel glared at Gabriel who had the decency to look apologetic. "Oops," he cringed.

Mary stifled a laugh and ended up yawning again. "Wake me up if you need anything or if something happens," she said as she climbed under the blankets. She was asleep before anyone could answer.

* * *

Gabriel grabbed the fleece blanket from the empty twin bed and tiptoed back to his scowling brother. He held up the blanket in surrender. _Sorry, bro. Didn't mean to hit your hunter!_

Castiel's frown grew deeper. _He is not 'my' hunter. But Dean was correct earlier—it is very difficult to get Sam to sleep after rough events. He is often plagued with nightmares and insomnia for weeks. If he were to wake up, it could be a day or two before he sleeps again._

Gabriel slowed his movements and gently tucked the blanket around Sam's legs. _Understood. I'm beginning to think the kid doesn't have a 'normal' sleep schedule. I keep waiting for him to stop having bad nights, but there's only been a couple that haven't ended in screaming._

Adjusting his arms around the blanket, Castiel lost the scowl and sighed. _He sleeps best when he is near others. Hopefully, he will allow himself to remain with everyone in here at night._

 _I think we can get creative when it comes to making that happen. No one's going to be willing to let him return to his room any time soon. Myself included._ Gabriel already had several plans for convincing Sam to stay in what was shaping up to be a humanized-nest space. Looking around the room, he started thinking about colors and lights and rugs. He had a safe-house dedicated entirely to storage. There were several tapestries that Sam would love...

 _Gabriel, what is a puppy pad?_ Castiel interrupted his thoughts of interior decorating.

 _What?_ Gabriel frowned in bewilderment at the change of topic.

 _A puppy pad. Dean told me I needed one, but when I asked he didn't answer._

 _Um, I think they're absorbent sheets you use to train dogs where to go to the bathroom. Or you put them in their crates in case they have an accident._ Gabriel was smiling now. _Why did he tell you that?_

The blush on the seraph's face delighted Gabriel's inner big-brother. _I may have gotten a little...exuberant...when Dean promised to get Sam a dog._

Gabriel's eyes widened in surprise. _When was this?_

 _This morning. Dean wanted Sam to open his eyes and when he promised a dog, Sam complied. I admit, I did not think it would work. But when it did, I was excited. The idea of an animal companion within the bunker is very appealing._

 _Oh sweet Dad, let me make a few calls later today. I know someone who can help us out. Don't let Dean do anything just yet, okay?_ His mind spun with possibilities.

 _What are you thinking, brother?_ Castiel's frown was back, and it was suspicious.

Gabriel scoffed and waved him off. _Don't you worry, Cassie. I promise not to get him a hellhound. But he's unique kid—he deserves a unique pup. One that can keep up with a fledgling._

 _Gabriel..._

 _Do you really think I would give something dangerous to Sam?_ He looked seriously at Castiel and saw the seraph relax.

 _No, of course not. But you may wish to mention it to Dean and Mary before choosing without their input._

 _Good idea,_ he agreed as he stood straight. _I'm gonna go talk to Raphael. We need to strategize on what to do with these poor wings._ Gabriel winced at the seared tendrils swirling within the buds. The grace was raw and exposed. They had to be fixed soon—preferably before something happened to hurt them further. The sight sickened him. Sam should never have experienced such violence. No one should.

 _Do you know what you will do? Can the process be reversed until they naturally manifest?_ Waves of worry flowed through their bond as Castiel turned anxious eyes on him.

 _I'm not really sure, Cas. This type of thing is beyond my experience. But I'm sure between all of us we will figure something out._ He wished he could reassure his brother better, but he honestly wasn't sure the best course of action. Healing wasn't his area of expertise. _Do you need anything before I go?_

Castiel shook his head and melted more into the cushions. _No. I will call you if he wakes up before you return._

 _Call me if you even think he may wake up, okay?_ After the incident in the bathtub, Gabriel was loathe to let Sam out of his sight. Too much tended to happen too quickly around the Winchesters.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. _Does something specific concern you?_

Damn, but baby bro was getting too good at being perceptive. Gabriel chewed his lower lip. _We don't know what can trigger him right now. He went from calmly sitting in the bath to a blind panic in less than a blink. All I did was suggest using the shower head to wash his hair after the bath to keep his back dry. I have no idea what part of that upset him, but I suspect it has to do with those British bastards. Until Sam tells us, we won't know what else could possibly set him off...or how he'll react. I'd rather be here in case his grace goes wild._

 _I understand,_ Castiel nodded. _Go, talk to Raphael. I will call you if he stirs._

Gabriel smiled in thanks and slipped out into the hall. The bunker was dark and silent. He felt the slumbering minds of the other humans as he passed closed doors. Emerging into the brighter light of the midday sun, he slowed his steps. Part of him was ecstatic to see his older brothers and bursting with hope for being a family again. But Gabriel still had doubts.

Michael certainly seemed like his old, glorious self when he'd helped guide them through reentry. But anyone can appear a literal God-send when they swoop into the midst of crisis and save the day. It would take time for Gabriel to know whether or not the change was permanent. Raphael, however, was a different story.

Since the beginning, Michael and Lucifer had revolved around each other as equal and opposite forces. Raphael assumed his role as the stabilizing rock within the trio, and tried to temper their intensity. When Gabriel came along, the two youngest archangels naturally bonded. But where Michael and Lucifer were a clash of fire and ice, Raphael and Gabriel were steady earth and the rush of air.

Gabriel stopped at the corner of building and nervously blew out a breath. Looking back, their relationship seemed like it shouldn't work. Their dance was not the polarizing spin of their older brothers. Raphael was eternal patience and slow study of creation's intricacies. Gabriel embodied a hummingbird's need for constant movement, darting from one event or idea to another, always feeding his insatiable curiosity. They had their own balance—their own song.

But that was centuries ago. Did they still remember how? Gabriel had been flying without a tether for a long time while the Commander and Healer of Heaven hardened themselves in the absence of their favored siblings. And that didn't even touch Lucifer's transformation since his fall. They may never all regain their previous relationships and bonds.

Walking around the building, he followed the familiar hum of the Healer's grace and found Raphael grooming another angel on their picnic table. The bizarre sight broke through his melancholy and pulled a laugh out of him. It only grew louder when the sound made the poor seraph jump. Raphael held their younger brother still with his grip and sent Gabriel a disapproving look. The familiarity of it made his vision swim.

" **Gabriel?** " the angel's grace lit up.

" **Zadkiel? Is that you?** " Gabriel smiled warmly as he blinked away tears. He had always admired the angel of mercy and compassion. Zadkiel just nodded, almost incapable of speech. Gabriel turned to his older brother and saw love behind the stern expression. He felt safe enough to grin and teased, " **Raphael, did you get antsy waiting and call someone down to groom?** "

Raphael raised his eyebrows and Gabriel knew he was in trouble. Sure enough... " **Mind your tone, Gabriel. You will have your turn,** " he pointed a long bony finger at Gabriel and scoffed, " **Lecturing** _ **me**_ **on impatience! Do not think I have forgotten your reckless flight this morning. Hurdling yourself toward the Earth with a seraph clinging to you with no more mind than the fledgling you wanted to save. I have seen your wings—you have no room to talk.** "

"Yikes," Gabriel muttered under his breath. He hadn't been scolded in forever. It felt wonderful.

" **I can still hear you,** " Raphael's deep voice echoed through the clearing. He patted Zadkiel's back, " **You may return to your patrol, brother. Tell the others I shall see them soon. I want all members of the guard operating at their best, and I suspect they are in need of similar maintenance.** "

Zadkiel stood and gave a short bow to Raphael. Instead of dismissing him, Gabriel watched as the Healer pulled the seraph into a tight embrace. The sight sent a delighted cloud of butterflies fluttering through his grace. This was the Raphael he remembered—the one who cared enough to let each of their siblings know they were cherished.

When they pulled away, Zadkiel hesitantly stepped toward Gabriel. Relief swept over him and he hugged the angel fiercely. Their graces brushed and it felt like home. He ignored the moisture on his cheeks as he gave a laugh and choked out, " **Missed you, little brother.** "

" **I have missed you too, Gabriel. Will you be returning to us as well?** "

" **Right now, I have a charge to care for here. But I am not in hiding, and I plan to visit frequently once things are more stable.** " He held Zadkiel at arms' length, keeping his hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eye. " **You are on the patrol sent by Michael? Good, I am glad he picked you. If you need anything or see anything, let me know immediately. The fledgling and the humans are our priority-if I should leave these grounds for any reason without telling you, assume the worst and protect them.** "

" **Of course, brother,** " Zadkiel nodded his understanding, " **It is an honor to guard your flock.** "

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked at Raphael and saw a hidden smile. Returning his gaze to Zadkiel, Gabriel stammered, " **I—yes, thank you.** " Zadkiel gave another bow and flew away.

Raphael and Gabriel stared at each other, looking past the human vessels to inspect their true-forms. It was Raphael who broke the silence. " **How long have you been back?** "

Gabriel blinked. That was unexpected. " **Um, I've been with the Winchesters for about two weeks. I spent several decades with Dad before that. You?** "

" **Couple centuries with Father. Michael and I were on our way to Heaven when we heard Samuel.** " He frowned and stepped closer, " **You left Father's presence only two weeks ago?** "

It was a struggle to not move away. " **Yes. Why?** "

" **Did you do all this damage in your flight this morning?** " There was no admonishment in his voice this time, only concern.

Gabriel brought one of his wings around to inspect. He winced at the frayed and ruffled sight. Looking sheepishly up at Raphael, all he said was, "Oops?"

The Healer gave a long-suffering sigh and trailed his fingers through the wing. Gabriel gasped as the presence of familiar grace bloomed along the touch and his knees gave out. Raphael caught him in long, willowy arms and gathered him close.

Suddenly, the weight of everything crashed over him—returning to life, learning of all that had transpired since his death, the stress of dealing with Sam's unique situation, and the terror of being thrown from the galaxy by human hands. His body shook with it all, and he didn't realize he'd been mumbling everything out loud until Raphael's low humming broke through the din.

Opening his eyes, Gabriel almost sobbed from the shared joy he found reflected back on his brother's lined face. " **I am so sorry, Raphael.** " He wasn't sure which transgression he was apologizing for—he was sorry for a great many things.

" **I am sorry as well,** " wrinkled fingers wiped away a stray tear from Gabriel's cheek, " **I fear if I were to list all the wrongs I have done in your absence that I would be confessing for years.** "

" **Maybe we can skip that part for now, then, and focus on how fucking happy I am to see you again. Because I am...so fucking happy.** " Gabriel buried his face in the embroidered tunic covering Raphael's vessel. It grounded him in a way he hadn't experienced in too long.

" **I am greatly pleased to see you too,** " Raphael rumbled and wrapped wings around the shorter archangel.

Healing energy poured into Gabriel and he realized what Castiel and Sam meant when they claimed he was overdoing it. He felt instantly buzzed and he floated on the sensation until he remembered there were other things besides past mistakes to discuss. Giggling into Raphael's shirt, he reluctantly pulled away. " **Okay, enough. I cannot be grace-drunk right now, although I am absolutely inviting you to the next party,** " he shook his head to clear it, " **We need to discuss Samuel.** "

Raphael nodded and stepped back. " **How is he?** "

Scrubbing at his face, Gabriel jumped onto the picnic table and sat down. He ignored the strange look from Raphael. " **At the moment, he is asleep. His physical injuries should be done healing by this evening.** "

White wings shifted in surprise. " **Why so long?** "

" **His body is not a traditional vessel. This is not a human/angel cohabitation. Nor did Father create a separate vessel for him to enter as He did for you, Michael, and Castiel. As far as I can tell, Samuel's grace reformed his body itself as another aspect of his true-form. I am unsure how it will react to invasive healing attempts.** "

Raphael frowned at the news. " **And what about the boy's other injuries?** "

" **His grace and wings? Those are another matter.** " He let out a shuddered breath. " **I have no idea what to do. His grace tried to cook him alive on the ride home. We think they held Samuel in freezing conditions and his system is still acting on instinct trying to keep him warm. So far, it only responds to me or Castiel heating our own graces. Not a long-term solution.** "

The Healer looked thoughtful. " **Will he allow me to examine him?** "

Gabriel shrugged. " **I honestly do not know. There is a good chance he will if the rest of us are present. It helps that he does not associate you with any personal torment,** " he smiled sadly, " **It took a while for him to trust me when I first got here. And he still has moments where his doubts overwhelm his trust.** "

" **How was he before the kidnapping?** "

" **I showed you everything I have seen and heard since returning to Earth.** "

" **True, but observing an experience does not mean I have your understanding of the situation. I am missing the insight of your thoughts.** " Raphael insisted with a nudge.

Gabriel felt his cheeks warm—it had been a lifetime since his opinion was sought after by another archangel. The thought over his answer carefully. " **Before the kidnapping, we were already dealing with daily anxiety attacks brought on by Samuel's new grace processing old memories, nightmares ending in screams, and grace-surges powerful enough to electrocute his human family. He easily gets trapped in memories and has trouble distinguishing present reality from the past. You will find him digging into his palm or scratching at skin—it is a behavior he learned to use when dealing with hallucinations of Lucifer.** "

Raphael nodded. " **I witnessed Samuel exhibit such behaviors this morning. I did not realize the significance of the gesture.** "

" **We have learned to look for it or else he continues until there is damage,** " he scrubbed at his face in frustration, " **These boys have a lot of issues. Most of them are rooted in their total and compete lack of self-worth—like they are only as good as their ability to sacrifice for others. I fear that will continue until they are convinced otherwise.** " Gabriel tried not to imagine all the scenarios a self-sacrificing Sam Winchester could get himself into once he'd mastered flight. Maybe Dean was right about them needing a kid harness.

" **Sacrifice? You mean their lives?** " Raphael seemed startled.

Gabriel huffed, " **Oh yeah! Do you know how many times they have died for each other or the world? More times than should be possible—believe me. It grew worse after the Apocalypse, and Castiel is in the same boat. All three of them are constantly trying to die, like it is some kind of competition!** "

" **They are suicidal?** "

" **Not suicidal in the traditional sense—at least, not that I have seen. But if the right situation were to arise, I guarantee one of them would take it. They consider themselves expendable. I am unsure how long Castiel has been this way, but the boys were trained into their mindset from childhood.** " Gabriel scuffed his toes against the bench in frustration.

Nodding, Raphael continued his questions. " **What else?** "

" **What else besides suicidal tendencies and a fleeting grasp on reality?** " Gabriel sighed, then thought of some of the more positive things he'd learned since joining the Winchesters. " **Well, Samuel gets lost in research far too much to be healthy, and you must watch him closely or he will forget to eat. Castiel is teaching him Enochian and we have been trying to create positive associations to it for him. I can tell you that he loves to be groomed if you keep your touch soft and slow and talk him through it. And if all else fails, show him your wings.** "

Raphael stared at him as though waiting for a punchline. When nothing followed, he dropped his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. He joined Gabriel on the wooden table, leaning their shoulders together as he spoke in a deep rumble. " **That is a lot to deal with alone, even for an archangel like yourself.** "

Gabriel felt his vessel jerk as it tried to shrug and nod and hunch over all at once. He coughed to cover the awkward moment, and it only made the feeling worse. " **I guess. It has not been the easiest couple of weeks, but...** " he paused, not sure how to express the thought, " **But they have been the best days of my entire existence.** " Tears threatened to close his throat and he coughed again. " **I have been without a true flock since I left. I have had families—people I loved and spent decades around—but this is different.** "

" **They are your flock. You are bound by grace and love.** "

" **Yeah. When I left, I put my grace on lock-down to become Loki. I lived and loved as Loki. Now, I am Gabriel again. And I have the best of both worlds—angels and humans. I belong to both.** " He chanced a glance at Raphael, to see his reaction. It surprised him to find the Healer nodding along as though Gabriel's words were some sort of confirmation.

" **What better way to fulfill your role as Father's Messenger than to be a conduit between Heaven and Earth?**

Gabriel scrunched his face in confusion. " **I** — **I guess?** "

Raphael smiled, " **We shall discuss this more later. For now, let me just say how pleased I am to see you, alive and happy.** "

The words melted his confusion away, leaving only contentment. Resting his head against Raphael's shoulder, Gabriel marveled at the truth of his statement. Despite all that had happened, he _was_ alive and happy. And sometimes, that was enough.

* * *

Castiel raised his grace's temperature another degree and held his breath as Sam shifted restlessly. Their first half hour had been peaceful, the boy's body boneless with deep sleep. But then he started to fidget, his grace lighting up with tiny static charges. It wasn't enough to wake him, and so far the increased heat had kept the grace from growing dangerous.

 _Gabriel, I do not think Sam will stay asleep much longer. His grace is unsettled,_ Castiel tried to keep the worry out of their bond, but knew he'd failed when Gabriel appeared in front of him.

The archangel crouched down and studied Sam's back. Leaning closer, he sniffed them several times. _The burn-smell is stronger. And there's more grace pushing out back here. It looks like it's trying to get rid of the damaged parts._

Fear made Castiel's own wings flare before he pulled them into place and focused. _What do we do?_

Gabriel wiped at his mouth and stared back with wide eyes. _I think we need to take him to Raphael._

 _No!_ Castiel stopped him, then rushed to explain, _Wake Dean and Mary first, and bring Raphael here. Sam would not want to be separated and forced to endure healing from a virtual stranger._

 _Good plan._ Gabriel stood and walked over to the hunter's shoulder, he said, "Dean. Dean, wake up."

Dean woke with a start and scrambled for the knife he usually kept under his pillow. Luckily, the angels kept the communal bedroom weapon-free. His head swung around until it landed on Sam in Castiel's arms. Blinking a few times, he turned to Gabriel. "What's wrong?"

"I need to get Raphael—Sam's burn has to be looked at now. Here," Gabriel tapped Dean's forehead, "This will wake you up. You'll still have to sleep later, but right now I need you awake and alert." The archangel quickly went and repeated the process with Mary. As soon as the humans were up, he returned to Castiel. "Just keep him warm and as settled as you can. I'll go get Raph." He was gone before Castiel could blink.

Dean and Mary sat in the chairs across from Castiel as he increased his temperature a few more degrees. Sam whimpered in his sleep and clenched his eyes. Both Winchesters leaned forward in their seats.

"What's going on, Cas?" Dean quietly asked.

"I'm not really sure," Castiel whispered, "He was sleeping fine, and then his grace became restless. I have been trying to let him sleep as long as possible, but it won't last."

Footsteps sounded through the hallway. Gabriel appeared at the door, followed closely by Raphael. Castiel bit down the stream of words he wished to say at the sight of the Healer—it would have to wait. Gabriel turned on the lights with a gesture and resumed his crouch next to Sam. The boy was now groaning and turned his head away from the light.

"He's not awake yet?" Gabriel asked, reaching out to pull Sam's hair back. Not waiting for an answer, he tilted Sam's head so they could see his face. He continued in a gentle but insistent voice. "Sam? Sammy. Come on, kiddo. I know you don't feel good. Come on, Sam."

Sam's eyes blinked against the bright overhead lights. Squinting, he tried to focus on the archangel's face. "Gabe?" he said, disoriented. A tiny spasm in the boy's grace had Sam hissing in pain.

"Easy there," Gabriel smiled, but Castiel felt his anxiety. "I think we're gonna have to look at those wings now, Sammy."

Sam's body tensed against Castiel. Small hands grasped at the collar of the trench coat to try and sit up. Castiel guided Sam to the seat beside him. Breathless from the pain of moving, he faced the room and took in each face. When he reached Raphael, Sam froze.

Castiel looked to Gabriel in his uncertainty. The archangel moved to perch on the edge of the table, blocking Raphael from Sam's view. "Look at me, Sam. Are you with me? It's okay."

Sam gave a stilted half-nod and leaned to the side to keep sight of the other archangel. "I'm fine," he sounded hoarse, "Why can't you and Cas do it?" The "without Raphael" came through loud and clear without being voiced.

"Because I have no experience healing holy fire burns. It's complex work that takes a specialist. I can help in the process, but Raphael is the only one who knows how to do it." Gabriel reached for Sam's hand, but the boy wrenched it away and scooted back in his seat. Castiel's arm darted out to grasp the bare shoulder before it could press into the cushion.

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but slammed shut again when another spasm hit. His whole body shook, trying to ride it out. "Breathe, Sam," Castiel said, calmer than he felt. He shifted his hand to the boy's neck and soothed the rigid muscles. Using the grip to keep Sam leaning forward away from the sofa, he got a clear look at the twitching grace. It was pushing itself further out in jarring spurts.

Taking a deep breath, Sam looked at Castiel. "I'm fine," he said through clenched teeth and tried to push the hand off his neck.

Releasing him, Castiel frowned anxiously, "You are in pain, Sam. It—"

"I'm fine," he snapped, "I don't need to be kept in place!"

Silence fell on the room. All Castiel could do was stare open mouthed at Sam. There was an undercurrent of rage in the fledgling's voice, fueled by layers of fear and pain.

A throat clearing made both Sam and Castiel jump. Dean stood up from his chair and shoved Gabriel to the other end of the table, then sat in his place. The hunter never looked away from his brother.

"Sam," Dean started, but the boy cut him off.

"No."

"Sam..." he sighed.

"No!" Adamant.

"Sam." Reproachful.

"No." Jaw clenched tight.

Another sigh.

"No." Still firm.

"Please?"

Sam paused. The two continued the fight silently, locked in a battle of wills and stares. Eventually, Sam's shoulders dropped and he looked down at his knees. "I'm tired," he whispered brokenly.

Dean's face paled. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and exhaled slowly. "I know, Sam. I know, and I'm sorry."

There was a conversation taking place under their words that Castiel could not hear. Whatever it was seemed vitally important and he felt more unnerved with each exchange. A glance around the room proved he wasn't the only one on edge. Mary and Raphael both looked confused while Gabriel was definitely verging on upset.

Laying a hand on Gabriel's knee, Castiel silently asked, _What is it?_

Gabriel's eyes swirled with gold as they turned to him. _Gadreel._

 _Oh_ , he replied. Then his thoughts caught up to him and he understood the implication. _Oh!_ Devastation rocked him. "Tired" meant more than exhausted. It meant a soul-deep weariness from constant battle and pain. It meant he didn't know how to keep going.

 _Yeah._ Gabriel covered Castiel's hand with his own as they continued to watch the brothers.

The minutes ticked by in silence until Dean slowly held his arms out. Sam looked up and frowned. He seemed in an internal debate for a moment. Then, the boy reluctantly reached back and allowed himself to be pulled into Dean's lap. He sat facing away from the rest of the people in the room. Castiel saw the muscles relax one-by-one as Sam gradually sagged against the hunter's chest.

"I'm sorry I didn't understand," Dean finally said in a low voice meant only for Sam's ears, "It will never happen again." Sam's spine straightened at the words, and Castiel saw his grace twitch. A hiss of pain escaped through surprised lips and Dean's right hand started massaging along Sam's lower back. "I promise, Sam. And I asked Cas and Mom to hold me to it."

"Why?" Sam whispered.

"Because I didn't get it. I didn't _want_ to get it. Cas helped me to see what I'd missed—what I did to you. And I never...I never want to...I can't do that again. Ever." It took several attempts, but when Dean finally got the words out Castiel felt more proud of his friend than ever before. Including all the times he'd saved the world. Gabriel's fingers squeezed his hand.

Sam was quiet. Castiel could see the boy's feet hanging on the other side of Dean's legs. The sock-covered foot kept rubbing along the exposed freshly grown skin of the right sole. He hoped it wasn't a new version of the "palm dig maneuver" Sam used.

With a heaving sigh, Sam twisted in place to better face his brother. "And if I say no?"

Dean's breath caught audibly and he had to swallow before he could speak. "Then the answer is no. But I don't know what happens to grace when wounds go unhealed. All I'm asking is that you at least hear us out before you decide. Things are different this time."

"How?" Sam demanded, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Gabriel and Raphael.

"Sam," Dean said softly and waited for his brother to meet his gaze, "Everything is different. No tricks, no deals. You know what is happening, and it's your decision. Why don't you ask some questions and find out your options first?"

Sam thought about it until another spasm spurred him into answering with a nod. "Fine. I'll listen."

The air left Dean in a rush and he curled forward to rest their foreheads together. "Thanks, Sammy," he murmured and took in a shaky breath, "How about we sit on the couch so we can see everyone again?"

Castiel watched Dean stand and turn, sitting back down next to him on the sofa. Hazel eyes stared at him with a mixture of regret and reservation. The seraph offered a smile, hoping to ease the emotional turmoil brewing there. " **Sorry,** " Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck.

" **It is alright, Samuel. I did not mean to upset you.** " The boy shrugged it off, but Castiel made a note to revisit the issue when they weren't in a crisis.

Dean cleared his throat, "Okay, Gabriel. Lay it on us. What are our options?"

"Right," Gabriel said, sitting up and rubbing his hands together, "So, we _can_ do nothing like you asked. But Dean is right—everything about this is different. You are not dying, Sam. If you decide you don't want healing then the wound will fester. It might spread to slowly affect other parts of your grace. Or it may try to eventually heal itself. However, we are talking years—decades or more. The surges you were having before all this happened would probably get worse, and the injuries will keep you from being able to control it."

Sam made a choked noise in his throat and clasped the bottom hem of Dean's t-shirt. He moved to face the archangel fully, hunching his shoulders as though preparing for a blow. The hunter resumed rubbing his knuckles along his brother's lower back. "And healing?" Sam managed to grind out.

"Raphael needs to examine you first. Then, he would explain what he thinks is the best course of action. You decide when and where and who you want present."

The boy looked at Raphael and the air in the room thickened uncomfortably. A sock-covered toe tapped against the bare sole and Castiel winced. They would really have to monitor that.

Suddenly, a small static spark arced down one unformed wing and jumped to Dean. "Ah!" both brothers yelled in shock and pain. Gabriel grabbed Sam by the waist and picked him up, moving them to the far side of the room with two sets of wings walling off any additional surges. Castiel took Dean's hand and quickly inspected the blistered skin

"What the hell was that?!" He tried to pull his hand back in panic but Castiel held it firmly.

"It was Sam's grace," he said in a low tone, trying to convey the need for calm. He had to drastically lower his own grace's temperature back down to normal, then made it even cooler to help the healing. The effect was immediate—Dean's arm went lax in his grip and the man sighed in relief. They watched the skin return to normal while Castiel explained, "The wound hurts and it's angry."

"His grace is angry because it's hurt?" Dean asked.

"Angry because it knows other angels are nearby and it's being ignored," Castiel clarified, looking up to see Gabriel whispering explanations to the confused boy. He felt Sam's distress at the realization that he'd hurt Dean. Castiel rushed to finish explaining, "An infant's instinct is to cry out if it needs something—food, changing, warmth. Fledglings are the same. Sam's grace has grown used to me and Gabriel interacting with it, and now it needs our attention."

Dean nodded toward their brothers, "And he's freaking out because I got hurt." It wasn't a question. The hunter stood and moved closer, keeping the king bed between them. "Sam, I'm fine. See?" Gabriel turned so Sam could see Dean who held up his hand to show unblemished skin. The hazel eyes shined bright with tears but his cheeks were dry. "See? I'm fine. Relax dude."

Sam stared at the hand before turning to Gabriel. "That will keep happening? Because of the burn?"

"Yeah, it will," Gabriel answered solemnly, "I'm sorry, kiddo."

The boy heaved in a breath and said, "Okay then. I guess R-Raphael should take a look."

"You're sure?" the archangel asked.

Sam didn't look sure, but he was making a strong effort to appear confident. "Yes. I can't go around accidentally electrocuting my family. I'm nervous and stubborn, not homicidal."

"Alright. Is here okay or do you want to go out by the bonfire?"

"Here's fine," Sam muttered as his false confidence faded.

Gabriel held him close and sat on the bed. "Okay. Let's get comfortable. Do you want to sit or lay down?" The only response was a small shrug.

Raphael walked over to them and gently brushed his fingertips against the fledgling's arm. " **Hello again, Samuel.** "

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Come be my friend on Tumblr: TheRiverScribe  
Don't forget to feed this author's soul with a comment!


	20. After the Storm pt3

**AFTER THE STORM  
** **PART 3: NOT MY MIND AND NOT MY HEART - I WON'T ROT  
**

Sam felt burnt-out. His grace, gifted straight from Chuck-as-God-Himself, raged from a fire that left him gutted. His mind, weary with overlapping thoughts and memories, spewed a steady stream of doubt. His body, drained from pain and fear, was beyond exhausted.

Waking up disoriented to deal with a room full of frantic mother hens made him want to hide under the bed. Everyone moved too fast, asking questions that required an immediate answer. There was so much grace in the room, it was hard to think straight. It smothered his senses, leaving him irritated and off-balance.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned into Gabriel. While Raphael didn't inspire the same terror as the two older archangels, he was still an unknown powerful figure. The Healer had shown patience and kindness when Sam was at his weakest, but that could change. People always changed once they got to know him. The archangel might come to the same conclusion as Ms Watt—that Sam was a freak even for an angel.

Taking a shaky breath, Sam pushed those thoughts aside. He'd consented to the exam, and there was nothing he could do to influence what Raphael found. If there was still some trace of demon blood, or any other remnants of the past, he had no way of hiding them.

Raphael looked at Sam like he _understood_ the hunter-turned-angel on a fundamental level—past Sam's own understanding of himself. It wasn't arrogant or cocky, but rather a quiet assurance carried in the archangel's piercing eyes. Shepard may have stripped Sam bare, but Raphael made him feel naked.

Gabriel's voice seemed distant when he asked about sitting or lying down. Sam could only shrug and brace himself for whatever Raphael might do. Fingers containing unfamiliar grace touched his arm. Sam held his breath and forced his body to stay still.

" **Hello again, Samuel,** " Raphael said.

Sam waited for the inevitable pain to explode between his shoulder blades. Instead, liquid heat poured over him like a second skin until he was covered head-to-toe. His eyes flew open and he stared at Gabriel in a panic, certain that if he opened his mouth the unknown substance would flood in.

"You're okay, Sam. Just breathe," Gabriel tried to reassure. Sam shook his head and brought hands up to his face to feel along his mouth and nose. Gabriel pulled them away gently, "It's just Raphael's grace, Sam. You can breathe. Come on, kiddo, calm down and breathe."

Hesitantly, Sam sniffed through his nose—nothing but air filled his lungs. His cheeks blazed with embarrassment, but it still took several minutes to stop fearing he drown. Raphael's grace, heavy and invisible, encased him completely. Sam fidgeted, but it moved with him. " **What doing?** " he mumbled against the strange sensation.

Gabriel rubbed his thumbs over the pulse point on Sam's wrists and studied him closely. " **When an angel is injured, it is traditional for a healer to wrap them in grace. It keeps wounds from bleeding out and kick-starts natural healing. Wraps also provide comfort—they are meant to make you feel safe.** "

 _Safe_ was not the word Sam would use to describe the sensation—it was more like being submerged in warm jello. _Disturbing_ was a better word. The bed sank behind him and a second large hand came to rest on his left shoulder. Raphael's voice rumbled like slow-rolling thunder, " **I am sorry if it is disorienting. I have rarely had to do this for an angel in a vessel, and never one so young. Rest easy, it will not interfere with your breathing.** "

Sam's grace twisted sharply beyond his shoulder blades and he gasped in a lung-full of air. He saw Dean move out of the corner of his eye. The memory of his brother's shout when he'd been shocked made Sam's stomach clench. Until his grace was fixed, he'd be a threat to everyone.

Gabriel sighed. Sam's eyes snapped to the archangel in time to see the sorrow swirling in gold. " **What?** " he asked before he could stop himself. The smile he received was hard to interpret—shaky and sad and a little forced. It only alarmed him more.

The weird smile melted into something more natural and Gabriel shook his head. " **It is nothing. My thoughts wondered,** " he said. Sam stared at him, unconvinced.

Golden grace danced up his arms, merging with Raphael's layer. It was more familiar, like summer wind, and Sam felt his own grace reach for it without permission. He tried to pull it back under control.

" **It is okay,** " Raphael said, making Sam jump, " **Just let your grace do what it needs to do.** "

" **It may even know better than you,** " Gabriel teased.

Sam scowled and bit his lip to keep from retorting. His temper rose as his grace grew irritated at being held so tight. Another sharp surge rippled up his back, and it was too similar to how it felt after being whipped with the Olive branch. Sam hissed in pain and gripped Gabriel's shirt.

Raphael's hands moved to Sam's lower back without touching the wings. " **Peace, Samuel. You are only hurting yourself,** " the archangel's voice was deeper than before. The grace around Sam started tingling along his skin.

He let out a frustrated grunt as his body shuddered and tried to twist away from Raphael. Gabriel placed a palm in the center of Sam's chest and released a torrent of grace to swirl around the angry storm brewing. " **Shh,** " Gabriel soothed, leaning closer so they were nose-to-nose, " **Enough. Samuel, look at me please. I need you to calm down. Can you speak?** "

Those words caught Sam's attention—it was the phrase Gabriel used to let him know they were reaching a point where the archangel might have to intervene, with or without Sam's approval. With that in mind, Sam forced himself to be still, pushing down the desire to sprint from the room. He gave a shaky nod and said, " **Yes.** "

Gabriel smiled warmly and brought a hand up to brush the curls off Sam's face. " **Good. Very good,** " he breathed out, " **I know you dislike healing. But if we do not help your grace soon, then you cannot stay around humans. That includes Dean and Mary.** "

Sam swallowed hard as his stomach knotted. Turning to look at his anxious family, the feeling worsened at the realization that he wasn't just different—he was dangerous. His eyes found Castiel, and his restless grace instantly reacted by reaching for him. Castiel nodded and he took three long strides to join them.

" **He is right, Samuel,** " Castiel said gravely as he sat on the bed next to Gabriel, " **Your grace is not stable with its injuries. Raphael will only be able to contain it for so long with that wrap.** "

Sam closed his eyes, knowing Castiel was telling the truth, and took a deep breath. This was his own responsibility—he'd accepted Chuck's offer and allowed himself to be changed. For all he knew, this was part of Chuck's grand plan to make Sam trust the angels. Not that he thought God had planned on Sam getting kidnapped and tortured...

" **Samuel,** " Castiel's voice cut through Sam's thoughts and he opened his eyes, " **are you still with us?** "

" **Yes,** " Sam said determinedly. His grace continued to move angrily, but he didn't know how to make it stop. " **What I do?** "

Castiel glanced at Gabriel for a second before answering. " **Healing is really just an advanced version of grooming. Do you trust me and Gabriel?** " Sam nodded. " **Then we can start with what is familiar. All you need to do is relax, stop pushing your grace down, and trust us to take care of you.** "

A nervous laugh escaped Sam's throat, " **That all?** "

Castiel smiled sheepishly, " **Perhaps I oversimplified.** "

Sam rolled his eyes and felt himself start to relax with less effort. He turned to Gabriel. The archangel _looked_ ancient in that moment, the weight of centuries written on his face. Sam felt his resistance crumble under the knowledge that he _did_ trust them. He had prayed to them when he was hurt and despairing, and they had come. Sam looked away when he realized he'd repaid them with anger. " **Sorry,** " was all he could say.

Gabriel surprised him by pressing a kiss to his forehead, " **None of this is your fault. I know this is hard. But I think Castiel's idea is good. How about you lay down and get comfortable, and we will go from there?** "

Sam agreed and watched Castiel rearrange pillows until they had what amounted to a second mini-mattress in the middle of the bed. The hands on his back vanished, startling him. Turning around, Sam found Raphael calmly studying him. He looked away, again feeling more exposed than when he'd actually been stripped naked.

Gabriel directed Sam onto the pillows where he stretched out on his stomach. He blinked back tears when he felt a blanket draped across his lower back, keeping him warm and covered. Nerves made tiny tremors run through his body and he crossed his arms, hoping it would be less noticeable.

Castiel lowered himself down on his side until they were face to face. " **Are you alright, Samuel?** " he asked softly.

" **Y-yes** ," his teeth chattered as he spoke.

Blue eyes narrowed. " **You do not look or sound alright.** "

" **You s-say I look bad?** " he tried to joke. It might have been more effective if his breath hadn't hitched at the end.

Castiel didn't answer. Instead, he brought a hand up and ran it slowly through Sam's hair. Sam laid his head down and huffed into his arm. " **Just relax. I will stay here. Your brother and mother are behind me. It is going to be fine.** "

A deep humming filled the room. Sam recognized it from that morning when he'd first met Raphael. The song acted like a balm in the air, wrapping everyone in the rich, warm tones. Sam's irritation calmed and the pressure on his shoulders lessened enough to make breathing easier.

The bed dipped as the archangels switched seats, but Sam kept his gaze locked on Castiel. The blue eyes glowed brighter with the seraph's grace. The scent of rain slowly drifted over him, calming the tremors. His own grace rushed to meet the familiar presence and he allowed it. Closing his eyes, Sam drifted on the dance of energies filtering through his body

" **Alright,** " Gabriel's voice came from somewhere near Sam's feet, " **We are going to start with the basics. The only difference will be Raphael joining us.** " The blanket was pushed up his legs and fingertips tapped feather-light around his ankle, walking their way down to his toes. There was a rhythm to the soft patting. Each beat sent a tiny vibration through Sam's foot, stirring sensation back into the skin. He wiggled his toes against the sudden pins-and-needles, but the feeling persisted. Gabriel chuckled, " **I know, it feels odd. Tell me if it starts to hurt, okay?** "

" **Okay,** " Sam answered. Castiel's fingers left his hair to hold Sam's hand. He saw Castiel's gaze move to Raphael and the seraph nodded.

" **Raphael is going to start,** " Castiel relayed.

Sam closed his eyes and pressed his face into the pillow.

Large hands returned to his back, fingertips tapping a light rhythm up and down his spine. The vibrations fluctuated across his skin through the liquid layer of energy. He heard it resonate in time and pitch with Raphael's humming, like listening to music underwater.

His grace easily accepted the Healer's presence. It didn't recoil or lash out—instead, it seemed to purr, content in the knowledge that someone was finally attending its needs. Sam felt it drift toward the surface to lazily rub against the warm wrap.

The three angels' graces melded together, making it difficult to tell them apart. Sam tried for a time to follow who was doing what, but it became impossible as his mind became pleasantly sluggish. He floated in a haze.

"Did you know that I used to do this for Gabriel when he was your age?" Raphael asked. The humming never faltered.

It took Sam a second to respond to the change of language. "No," he mumbled as fingers moved up his spine, sifting lightly through the grace that rested below the wings. Gabriel made a startled sound.

"Oh yes, Gabriel was always a mess as a fledgling," it was easy to hear Raphael's grin, "I used to think he'd purposefully fall out of Heaven to play on the newly formed Earth, long before humans were created."

The hands reached his shoulder blades—where Sam estimated the base of his wings sat. Fingers carefully stroked over the exposed grace with the precision of a surgeon. Sam's breath caught but he made no noise. The area was sensitive, but the touch didn't hurt.

"Of course, I knew almost instantly every time he left to go exploring. He was like a persistent little hummingbird—always buzzing and darting around me, never focused on one thing, and consuming vast amounts of sweet fruits."

Gabriel laughed. "Man, I loved it when humans came along and invented candy. Cavemen made this amazing taffy-like stuff from honey that was divine."

"Yes," Raphael agreed, "You were nearly intolerable with it. There were several occasions I had to have Father remove sticky gobs of it from my wings because of you."

"That's not true!" Gabriel gasped in mock outrage. "It was only one time."

"You only heard about one time because you would take off before I knew what you'd done," Raphael said as Gabriel laughed again, "You are just lucky I never made _you_ go to Father when we'd drag you back to Heaven covered in mud and twigs and whatever else you'd found to roll around in. I guarantee you would have experienced much longer lectures with Him than you ever had with me."

Sam tensed when he felt the hands leave his skin to continue threading fingers through the grace floating outside his body. It was unnerving to recognize a new appendage—and it was suddenly much easier to do so. While the grace within his body was now calm, his wings were getting worse. Static crawled across them, shooting sparks of energy back down his spine.

Castiel leaned in closer, " **You are doing very well, just keep breathing deeply. Having your raw grace touched can be unpleasant. Do you wish to sleep for this part?** "

Sam's eyes flew open and he shook his head. The only thing worse than submitting to an angel's healing was being unconscious while it happened. " **No! Please no sleep,** " he begged.

The hands on his wings stopped, and one moved to rest again on Sam's shoulder. " **Hush, child. No one will make you sleep, I promise.** " More grace poured around him and the hum grew louder. It almost made him feel like he was in the back of the Impala on a Summer's day. Raphael's knuckles rubbed the tension out of his shoulders for a few minutes before returning to his wings.

"Well, I think your lectures were lengthy enough," Gabriel mumbled after a moment of silence. Sam snorted at the petulant tone. The hand at his left ankle reached up to tickle behind his knee. His leg kicked out on reflex. Luckily, his muscles were mostly mush at that point and didn't do much.

" **Gabriel, quit being a menace!** " Raphael's fingers moved methodically through the wings, adjusting flow-patterns as he went. The grace responded gradually, settling as it allowed the changes. "I am not so sure my words had any impact—as soon as you were cleaned up and bored, you'd be gone again. When Father announced that He would be making fledgling seraphs, I was horrified by the prospect of having to keep track of entire host of little Gabriels."

"Hey now!"

Raphael ignored the outburst. "Luckily, it turned out Gabriel was...unique. The new fledglings were much calmer and better behaved."

"Until Gabriel got involved," Castiel chimed in. Sam cracked open one eye to see his friend grinning toward the Trickster.

Gabriel's warning of, "Don't you dare start, Cassie!" was drowned out by Raphael's deep, rolling laughter.

"Precisely, brother! Once he was old enough to help, Heaven's nursery had to be safeguarded against all the mischief he encouraged. And there was a _lot_ of mischief Gabriel encouraged."

Sam smiled at the image of Gabriel teaching baby angels how to play pranks on the other archangels. He wondered if any were brave enough to try their shenanigans on Chuck too. Closing his eyes, he mumbled, "Sounds like fun."

* * *

The humans joined the conversation with Dean demanding to hear specifics. Raphael half-listened as Gabriel launched into a story that seemed to contain more incriminating details than anything exonerating. Castiel occasionally whispered things to Samuel. The boy's laughter was the best sound he'd heard in ages.

While the flock playfully bickered, the Healer modulated his own grace's resonance. He used it to sing directly to the young grace on wavelengths outside the human range. It was a technique he'd created in his early days as a caretaker—mostly during Gabriel's infancy, when the tiny typhoon refused to calm down. He had been amazed to learn humans had developed a similar method using the harmonies of singing bowls to activate different energy centers.

Raphael was willing to use ever tool at his disposal if it meant keeping the skittish fledgling calm. Never had he experienced such resistance toward healing from another angel, but he was starting to appreciate how difficult Gabriel's past two weeks must had been. The battle for Samuel's trust renewed with each passing minute.

When Gabriel had returned so quickly after flying away to answer Castiel's call, Raphael knew they'd been out of time. Watching the boy fight his own instincts was gut wrenching—an entirely new and uncomfortable emotional response for the archangel. The grace-soul had rolled with desperation through the whole ordeal. But Samuel forced it down, not allowing it to reach for any source of safety. Raphael could not tell if it was done consciously or as a preconditioned response. Either way, the willpower alone was daunting.

Samuel's behavior after consenting to healing had given Raphael pause. A single touch made the boy freeze, like prey spotted by a predator. Did he think the archangel would grab him by the burned wings? It confounded the Healer even more when the fledgling flew into a panic from being swaddled in grace. He prayed he never again witnesses an angel fight against their own instincts.

Humming softly, he was pleased to note how far the boy had come since they'd started. The young grace reached for him now, recognizing him as someone safe. He welcomed it, nourishing the curious nature hiding underneath a layer of nerves. As his fingers threaded through it, the burnt-smell grew stronger. Raphael could see clearly where the damaged portions had all been pushed to the ends of the budding wings. He exhaled—the grace was actually functioning as it should and in their favor.

 _What do you think? How bad is it?_ Gabriel's worry was palpable.

Raphael met his brother's eyes. _I have seen worse during war, but it is not great. His grace is trying to molt the burnt parts. Removing them manually will not be pleasant for him._ He leaned in closer and saw how quickly grace was trickling into the wings. _And it appears that his system is not properly maintaining itself. His levels are rising too quickly._

 _Yeah, that's an everyday thing for us. If he doesn't use it a lot, it builds up. If he gets upset, it builds up and shocks anyone too close. He's learned how to release it himself, but I still have to step in when it happens too fast._ Gabriel grimaced.

Raphael filed that away to contemplate in depth later—for now it helped him to better understand Samuel's current situation. _I need to remove the damage, and place a protective layer around the exposed grace. It is only a temporary solution, though. Samuel will have to be trained to do it himself as soon as he is recovered._

Angels naturally developed the barrier around their grace within their first few years of life when they were barely more than a tiny ball of light. For Samuel to learn this all while embodied on Earth was unprecedented. He only hoped the fledgling would accept him as a teacher.

"Your grace is very strong, Samuel," Raphael said, gaining everyone's attention, "It has done most of my work for me. What I am going to do is remove the damaged grace. It may hurt a little, but I will be careful and work fast. Alright?"

Samuel's head raised slightly off the pillow, "Yeah. Go ahead." He sounded nervous but resolute before burying his head in his arms again. Everyone else looked to the Healer in anticipation.

Raphael allowed his grace to build in his palms until they glowed with pure white light. Even though he had done this many times before, it was still a delicate procedure. If he encountered anything more than a slight tangle or catch, he was ready to act.

Starting at the base of the wing, he drew his fingers through the entire length of healthy grace. He was pleased to find it no sign of the previous restless rage. It now flowed calmly and unhindered by blockages. He focused on the border of the burn.

Molecule by molecule, Raphael severed the dead grace from the wing. Pieces fell off into his hand as easily as a dried leaf from a branch. He incinerated them with a thought.

Samuel stayed silent through the whole process. The only sign of discomfort were the beads of sweat that had formed along his hairline. When Raphael reached the final part, he had to give it a little tug. The boy's muscles flinched and he heard Castiel quickly whisper reassurances. The decayed grace vanished, and Raphael let out a sigh.

"I have finished removing all the damage," he said, still grooming through the wings, "Rest now. I will place a seal around your wings so they can't interact with the physical world. You have done very well, child." There was a long pause before he saw a slight shake of curls as Samuel nodded. Raphael frowned in concern and looked to Castiel.

The seraph echoed his worry. _He won't look at me,_ he said silently. Propping himself up more on his elbows, Castiel lifted the boy's face with gentle fingers. "Sam, are you alright?"

Raphael leaned over and saw the strained expression surrounding glassy hazel eyes. His face was red, streaked with sweat and possibly tears. Samuel didn't seem to hear him at first. Castiel repeated the question while pushing the drenched curls off his forehead. The boy slowly blinked and focused his eyes on the seraph without answering. Raphael did a quick scan, but found almost everything healed.

" **Samuel, what is wrong?** " Castiel tried in Enochian.

Samuel cleared his throat. "I-I'm okay," he rasped.

"Are you in pain?" Castiel asked. It was obvious something was still affecting the boy.

"No. Not really. It...it just," he broke off, sighing, "It felt like..."

"Like what?" the seraph pushed.

"Soul-touching," Samuel murmured, rubbing his face against the pillow. "I'm good now. It just took me by surprise."

Raphael looked to Gabriel for an explanation. The younger archangel winced. _He's had plenty of experience with having his soul touched—even outside of the cage. Lucifer tried to kill Sam that way a few months ago._

The Healer's eyes flashed with understanding. He grounded himself, steadying his emotions before the fledgling picked up on them. It would be unfair if Samuel had silently endured the healing only to be undone by Raphael's anger.

"We are almost done," he promised, replacing his hands on the boy's back. Raphael returned to humming as he coated the shapeless wings in a layer of his own grace. He ran open palms over the surface, safely barricading them from the physical world.

The effect was almost instant—Samuel's body shivered once, then melted into the pillows as most of the tension drained away. " **Thank God.** " The words were muffled, but audible to the angels.

Raphael smiled, and felt the relief of everyone in the room. He ran his hands a few more times over the wings before gently folding them against the boy's back. They may not have 'feathers' yet, but they would soon enough. It took time to form the intricate pathways required for flight.

His hands stroked down the wings and along Samuel's spine before returning to his shoulders. Repeating the motion, Raphael channeled more grace as he began a light massage. The welts and bruises peppering the boy's skin faded with each pass of his hand. He worked the healing energy deeper, to the bruised grace, and heard it purr in response.

As he finished, Raphael adjusted the grace-wrap to alert him to any changes. It would provide steady heat and energy to the boy's system while he rested. " **There we go,** " he whispered, pulling the blanket all the way up to Samuel's shoulders and smoothing it down against his sides, " **All done, little one. You sleep now.** "

"M'no'tr'd," Samuel slurred, turning his head enough to talk. Raphael frowned and tried to interpret his words. A glance at Gabriel proved fruitless—the younger archangel just shrugged.

Dean sighed with a soft laugh, "Yes, you are. Go to sleep."

"Mm'not!"

"Yes, you are. Go to sleep."

Raphael smile fondly—the boy sounded so much like Gabriel. Standing carefully from the bed, he waved Dean over to take his place. Sometimes, little brothers just needed their big brothers.

 _I know what you're thinking!_ Gabriel's voice invaded his thoughts. He turned to see his brother scowling. _Your face is all...gooey._

 _I believe your imagination has made you delusional, my dear Gabriel._

Samuel blinked, his eyes heavy. "No, I…"

Dean slid onto the bed and fussed with the blankets. "You what? Need to do laundry? Research?" he scoffed. "I hope it's something that doesn't require more effort than drooling, because I don't think you could scratch your own nose right now."

Samuel's face scrunched up comically. "Jerk...now my nose itches." He rubbed it on his pillow, unconsciously proving Dean's point by failing to use his free hand.

Raphael stood by the doorway as the hunter stretch out alongside the fledgling. Gabriel appeared by his side, too lazy to walk across the room. They continued to watch the brothers in silence.

"Quit snotting on your pillow, and go to sleep," Dean combed his fingers through the younger boy curls.

"M'not..."

Dean brought his hand down to gently rest over Samuel's eyes, quieting him. "Dude—sleep."

Samuel mumbled something.

"Yeah, Sam, I'll stay," Dean said, getting comfortable.

Tiny fingers peeled Dean's hand away from his face. The hunter allowed it, grinning when the boy didn't let go. They rested their hands between them on the pillow.

"'s'too?"

"Yesm Cas will stay too. Won't you, Cas?" Dean said. He sent a seraph a look that dared him to say otherwise.

"Of course I'll stay," Castiel said, looking startled and still holding the fledgling's other hand. He shifted slightly, then asked, "Did you mean in the bed?"

"Yes, he meant in the bed," Dean whispered fiercely before his brother could answer, "Lay down all the way. He's already got a hold on you—you may as well just get comfortable. And if you wake him up, then you are responsible for getting him back to sleep, capiche?"

"I...capiche." Castiel turned wide eyes on the archangels by the door.

Gabriel threw him a thumbs-up. _You're doing great, baby bro!_

Raphael elbowed the younger archangel, earning himself a glare. _It is promising to see Samuel has bonded so closely with you, Castiel. You are a wonderful caretaker._ He grabbed a folded blanket from the foot of the empty twin bed and shook it out over Dean.

 _I told you, Cassie. You missed your calling when they made you a soldier,_ Gabriel said.

Raphael looked around the room, his eyes landing on the Winchester mother. She was sitting on the twin bed, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. He smiled and made his way over to her. With care and a little grace, he eased her down on the bed and covered her with another blanket.

Turning around, he saw Castiel staring up at him. After a moment of hesitation, Raphael placed his hand on the seraph's shoulder. _Savor the beauty of this moment, Castiel. Even if he remains a fledgling for centuries, it still won't be long enough._

Gabriel lowered the lights and sat on the sofa. Raphael checked on Samuel again and was relieved to find him sleeping. Once everyone was adequately covered in blankets, he settled in next to the other archangel.

 _Lollipop?_

A brightly colored chunk of sugar on a stick was shoved under his nose. Raphael felt one of his eyes twitch. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
Happy February 14th!  
I heard it's a special day. One that involves lots of candy and costumes.  
Is it early-Halloween? ;)

Come be my friend on Tumblr: TheRiverScribe  
Comments keep my soul fed (and sane)!


	21. After the Storm pt4

**AFTER THE STORM  
PART 4:** **I TOOK YOU BY THE HAND, AND WE STOOD TALL  
**

Castiel marveled at the tiny fingers clutching his hand. Sam's grip had not relaxed since falling asleep four hours ago. In fact, the boy had not moved at all in that time. Castiel wondered if that was normal. In his previous observations, the only time Sam slept this deeply was when it verged on the edge of unconsciousness.

 _I can hear you thinking from over here, Cassie._ Gabriel's voice whispered in Castiel's mind. The archangel had been unnaturally silent since sprawling across the couch.

Castiel tried to look over his shoulder, but gave up. It would require him to let go of Sam, and Dean had strictly warned him against such action. _I am amazed at Sam's stillness. It is not his usual sleep behavior._

The crinkling of a candy wrapper came from Gabriel's vicinity. _I'm not surprised the kid's crashed. The healing alone was enough to knock an adult angel out. Combine that with the events of the past couple days? Sam is due for a coma-level sleep._

Castiel conceded the point, but it was still unnerving. His gaze moved from the child's face, soft in sleep, to the grace wrapped tight around Sam's entire being. It glowed with all their combined energies—emerald swirled with gold and sapphire. And underneath the swaddling layers was the light of Sam's own grace pressing as close as possible against the brilliant colors.

Pure contentment flowed through their bonds. The feeling echoed back to Castiel from both archangels. They were all still pushing tiny amounts of grace into the wrap, and it was enhancing their natural mental connections. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever felt _more_ like an angel than he did in this moment.

Raphael moved toward the bed. He had maintained his vigil by the doorway like a stone sentry, but now he came into Castiel's line of sight. The Healer's steps were slow as he studied Sam's sleeping form. His face revealed a deep concentration and heavy thoughts.

Castiel frowned, his worry spiking as he quickly scanned Sam, fearing he'd missed some change. _What is wrong?_ he asked when he found nothing amiss. There hadn't even been a fluctuation in the boy's temperature since Raphael had finished healing him.

The crevices carved into the archangel's ancient face deepened as he seemed to consider his words carefully. _Since my creation, I have been personally involved in raising every angel through their fledgling stage—until now. Samuel has only known my touch in moments of extreme pain and fear. He does not recognize my songs. Nor does he trust what he should instinctively know. Everything he does is counter to my expectations and experience._

Gabriel snorted. _Get used to it. Sam only has his human experience to draw on. And most of his life was crap. Everything he knows tells him not to trust people who claim they want to help. Angels are probably at the top of that list—right above demons._

Raphael radiated discomfort at the idea. _I would accuse you of exaggerating if I had not seen it myself. He has an amazing amount of willpower, but a skewed sense on how it should be applied. The combination is dangerous in one so young._

 _The Winchesters' determination has become well-known to this world over the years,_ Castiel said with a sad smile. _I have seen them overcome many obstacles and enemies on that trait alone._

 _How often has that been to their detriment?_ Raphael asked.

 _About as often as it's been their salvation,_ Castiel answered honestly.

 _Pig-headed, stubborn humans!_ Gabriel interjected fiercely, but his tone way betrayed by the flood of fond affection. _Taking on archangels and Auntie Amara with nothing but big sad eyes and a fucking speech._ _And you are just as bad as the brothers, Cassie. Dad above, you three are stupid! I swear, sometimes I love you idiots so much it makes me want to puke.  
_

Castiel froze. To speak of love so freely did not happen in his world. Heaven had lost the language of love eons ago, and the Winchesters stumbled their way through affection with clumsy half-hugs and alcoholic peace offerings. They had improved lately—Mary's presence and Sam's transformation meant a lot of things from the past were being revisited. Old wounds were beginning to heal. But for Castiel, declarations of love were rare.

He swallowed hard and kept his eyes on where Sam's fingers dug into his vessel's skin. _Well, if we are a flock of fools, then you should feel right at home._

 _Yes, he should,_ Raphael said as he sank down on the empty twin bed. Castiel looked up to find himself on the receiving end of the Healer's warm gaze. _All of you stood against convention to stay true to your convictions—and all of you have suffered great consequences. Isolation, pain, judgment. The burden of being responsible for the whole world is a heavy weight to bare alone. I can honestly say that you all deserve each other._

Gabriel sniffed loudly. _Yeah? Well, you make me want to puke, too._

A few years ago, Castiel would have questioned Gabriel's word-choice. Vomiting was not something he'd associated with an abundance of love. But he knew better now.

Love overwhelmed to the point of discomfort, yet he clung to the sensation. It tore his insides apart, unbalancing a lifetime of training and expectations. He loved his siblings, but it was a love bound in duty and rooted in the distant past. It paled in comparison to what Castiel felt for the people gathered in this small space.

 _I do not quite understand your phrasing, brother. But I love you as well._ Raphael replied.

Gabriel chuckled softly. _Give it time—the longer you spend linked to your vessel, the more you'll feel emotions on a physical level. Sometimes, it's unpleasant._

 _So I am discovering. I have always been more an observer of humanity, but there were occasions when I walked among them._ Raphael rubbed a hand over his chest like it ached. _I do not remember it being like this when I took vessels before. It was uncomfortable, but never so...visceral. I cannot say I see the appeal._

 _Meh, it'll grow on you,_ Gabriel assured him. _Fair warning though—_ _ _you shouldn't tell the Winchesters that you don't see the fun in being human._ From what I've seen and heard, they'll just try to introduce you to _ more _human experiences until you find something you enjoy. Or until your reactions stop amusing them._

Raphael's head tilted in amusement. _What does that entail, exactly?_

 _It will mostly center around tasting food and drink. They can also be particularly sensitive to reactions toward their favorite musical selections._ Castiel answered, grimacing at memories of Dean getting offended over having his music questioned.

 _He really just means "don't piss Dean off over his classic rock or he'll make your life a living hell,"_ Gabriel clarified and Castiel rolled his eyes. _Don't you roll your eyes at me, Cas-a-fras!_

Raphael chuckled softly as Castiel tried glaring over his shoulder at the younger archangel. _I never thought I would hear you lecture a seraph on using a gesture_ you _invented._

 _Oh please! Like Cassie got any of this from me._ The couch squeaked and soft footsteps smacked across the floor. Gabriel's small form stomped all the way to stand in front of Raphael. Castiel expected him to aim a tirade at the Healer and was surprised when Gabriel turned to face him instead. It made Castiel want to flatten his vessel lower into the bed, like an archangel couldn't see through some pile of pillows. _Don't get me wrong, Raphael—I totally had my eyes on the little tyke back in the day. So serious about everything, but not cold and disconnected. Curious enough to ask questions with no concern for anything other than gaining knowledge. How could I not want to foster that into something a little more...fun?_

Castiel felt the sincerity of his words through their bond, and it kicked up a cloud of confusion in his mind. Gabriel had singled him out as a potential student? Partner in crime? When? Why? It made no sense.

 _What is he doing?_ Raphael asked Gabriel while staring at Castiel.

Gabriel let out a huff and plopped on the bed beside Raphael. Pulling a sucker out of the air, he leaned wearily against the older archangel as though unable to remain upright. _He's working himself into an existential crisis. It happens a lot around these three. Especially if you challenge their self-perceptions._

Raphael's eyes turned sharp on Castiel, and the seraph wondered if Sam felt this exposed around other angels all the time. They stared at each other for almost a full minute before Raphael broke the silence. _Gabriel, why did you wish to mentor Castiel?_

Gabriel smiled and tilted his head back to look up at Raphael. _Because he reminded me of you. And you always needed more fun in your life._ The smile slipped away. _But then Lucifer...I knew I had to leave. There was no way to predict Heaven's response, and no guarantee the flock wouldn't find me within a day or two anyway. I had to go alone._

The silence was heavy. Castiel focused on checking Sam again to make sure the emotional conversation wasn't bleeding through their grace. He was still in deep sleep, but his grace now shifted lazily along the wrap. Calming his own inner turmoil, Castiel laid a hand on top of Sam's head and sent him feelings of peace. He hoped some of it reached Gabriel.

 _That was excellently done, Castiel._ Raphael sounded pleased and slightly surprised.

 _Thank you. Sir._ Castiel replied without looking up. This Raphael was a stranger to him, overshadowed by the person he became long before the apocalypse. That person had been cold and empty, a shell that contained nothing but power. Now, though, Raphael exuded something that Castiel had only recently started to associate with Gabriel.

Gabriel snorted. _Sir? You never call_ me _sir. Not that I want you to start!_

 _I assure you, the thought never crossed my mind._ Castiel mentally mumbled.

 _Do you hear that, Raphael? That's what I'm talking about!_ Gabriel waved his arms in Castiel's direction. _All that sass and it didn't even come from me,_ he ended on a pout.

 _And where, pray tell, did young Castiel learn all your most cherished traits?_

 _Where do you think? The Winchesters took responsibility for corrupting him like it was their life-mission,_ Gabriel explained.

Castiel frowned. _The Winchesters did not corrupt me, Gabriel._

 _Really?_ Gabriel gave him a slow grin that made him uneasy. _So Dean_ didn't _take you to a brothel?_

 _What?_ His jaw dropped in surprise. Of all the things, how did Gabriel even know about that?

 _Are you denying it?_ Gabriel leaned forward with narrowed eyes.

 _What?!_ Castiel repeated. _How—?_

 _Sam tattled on you,_ the archangel said with a wink. _You calling the new baby a liar? That's pretty low, Castiel. I'm disappointed._

 _No! I...That's not what..._ Castiel felt himself get flustered, caught between a rock and a hard place.

 _A brothel?_ Raphael asked, clearly amused.

 _It...It was the night we summoned you into a ring of holy fire. We did not expect to survive. Dean was very concerned I would 'die a virgin' on his watch._ Castiel refused to meet the archangels' eyes.

 _Man, you guys love doing that, don't you?_ Gabriel shook his head.

 _Love what?_ Castiel scoffed. _De-flowering virgins or walking knowingly toward certain death?_

 _Yes. Both. But I'm mostly talking about trapping your siblings in holy fire so you can talk to them._ Gabriel teased, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness.

The whole topic had Castiel on edge. He shifted on the bed, wishing he could stand up and move around. _I do not believe either of you would have been very willing to speak with us otherwise. Besides, I was not involved in your capture, Gabriel. You kept me from interfering in that lesson by locking me away in a pocket universe._

 _True._ Gabriel sighed and flopped against Raphael's side again. _It wasn't my best moment._

 _I do not understand the significance of 'dying a virgin' on Dean Winchester's watch._ Raphael shook his head.

Castiel pressed his face into the pillow and groaned.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. It lasted a solid hour when Castiel felt the change—Sam's breath hitched before it changed to quick, shallow pants. The boy furrowed his brow and tried to curl onto his side without letting go of anyone's hand.

Recognizing the onset of a nightmare, Castiel called out, _Gabriel!_ They were rarely given the chance to prevent Sam's sleep terrors, but Gabriel had proven to be the fastest and most effective at deterring them. The archangel's power and experience working within human minds far exceeded Castiel's own.

There was a rush of wings and he felt the end of the mattress dip down. A glance showed the archangel crouching at Sam's feet. Raphael stood up and leaned over Dean, two fingers extended like a priest offering benediction. The Healer's grace glowed, igniting the space with light.

 _Raphael, pull it back,_ Gabriel ordered and there was instant obedience. _If Sam wakes up mid-nightmare, this grace-wrap may be a problem. Cut it down to the bare-minimum so it isn't a shock to his system if we have to undo it quickly._

The brilliant colors encasing Sam dimmed, fading down to a faint shimmer. It seemed to ease some of the tension building in the small body, but it caused the boy's grace to stir at the change. Castiel pushing the curls back from the scrunched up face, whispering, "Shh..."

Castiel's mind caught bursts of images and emotions, and he heard Gabriel gasp.

 _Metal bars lit by a red glow. Cold, sharper than ice against skin, freezes lungs and burns eyes as empty laughter echoes. A man's voice saying, "You think we left them alive...the man who bore the Mark of Cain and the thing wearing your dead mother's body?" Fear and numbness war for dominance._

 _Oh Dad,_ Gabriel said as he laid a hand on Sam's leg. _Talk to him, Cas. He likes your voice best._

 _That's not true. He prefers Dean._ As though summoned by his words, Castiel saw the hunter raise his head and blink at them.

"Wha's goin' on?" Dean slurred, still mostly asleep. He swung his head around to the angels all hovering over the bed.

"Sam is having a nightmare," Castiel whispered. "We are trying to keep him from waking."

Dean's focus immediately went to his brother. The boy had sweat beading along his brow, and he was making little grunts behind thin, trembling lips. Sighing, the hunter swung his right arm over Sam's curled form and pulled him closer. Castiel felt the sharp fingers dig into his palm and allowed his arm to follow them across the bed.

Sam shook his head, eyes clenched shut, just on the verge of waking up. "Dee..." he mumbled in protest.

Dean made shushing noises and helped him turn until the small body was nestled into his side, half-draped over his chest. "Sleep, Sammy," he said into messy hair. His left arm curled up to rest as a heavy, reassuring weight along Sam's side.

The move dislodged the boy's hold on Castiel's hand. He stared down at the tiny half-moon impressions left behind. Before he could begin mourning the loss of contact, Sam's arm reached out blindly and closed around the bottom corner of the trench coat. With one determined tug, the boy wrapped the tan fabric around himself and melted back into sleep.

"Welcome to life as Sammy's security blanket," Dean said as his eyes drifted closed. He was out before Castiel could ask what that meant.

 _Well, that was exciting._ Gabriel's words were flippant, but his tone was shaky.

Castiel kept an eye on him while carefully rearranging the pillow pile. The archangel remained crouching in the center of the bed, looking troubled and lost in thought. _Are you alright, Gabriel?_ he asked as he scooted closer to the brothers. It was a relief to be able to sit up and see the whole room.

There was a flutter of wings and Gabriel appeared standing next to Raphael. _Not really, Cassie._ He wiped a hand over his mouth. _Did you pick up on any of his dream?_

Castiel looked down at the Winchesters. He could only make out a tuft of curls and pink toes peaking out of from under his coat. _Yes,_ he answered simply and adjusted the coat to cover Sam's toes. There was an echo of cold that lingered from the dream—a sense of nakedness and a strong desire for protection.

 _What is it, brother?_ Raphael asked, resting a hand on Gabriel's shoulder.

 _I think...I think I'm going to get the laptop you found._ Gold eyes, blazing with anger, stared unseeing into the distance. _I want to know why. Why they took him, what they did to him, who the fuck they thought they were to even touch him. You know...just the basics._

Castiel nodded, understanding the fury. _It is in the trunk of the Impala._

 _I'll take the long way 'round,_ Gabriel said. He met Castiel's eyes for a moment before glancing briefly at Raphael. An eyebrow rose, asking if he'd be okay.

Warmth filled Castiel, easing the simultaneous rush of nerves at being left alone with Raphael. But they needed to talk, and now was as good a time as any. _Be sure you do nothing damaging or disorderly to Dean's car. He can forgive a lot of things—that is not one of them._

 _Don't worry! I'm not gonna mess up your boyfriend's wheels._ Gabriel flashed a lascivious grin.

 _Gabriel!_ Castiel snapped, but the archangel was already out the door. Laughter bounced around the hallway, and Castiel had to tamp down the desire to childishly slam the bedroom door shut with his grace to block the sound out. The satisfaction wouldn't be worth waking the Winchesters over a petty spat.

 _I am not certain Heaven could have withstood a mentorship between you and Gabriel._ Raphael's words made Castiel's head snap around, expecting to find criticism. Instead, he saw amusement. _You two would have reigned down chaos for eons._

Castiel dropped his gaze to the bed. _Yes, well, I ended up reigning down enough chaos to make up for my early obedience._

Raphael sighed. _If you are looking for judgment, you will not find it with me, brother. It is neither my place nor my right._

Surprise surged through Castiel and he looked again at the archangel. Raphael had a calm, almost stoic, expression on his face. But the emotions crowding their open bond were anything but serene. Regret and self-loathing left a sour taste on Castiel's tongue and fed into his own similar feelings. _Would it fall to Michael?_ he asked seriously.

This was not a scenario he'd considered. With authority in Heaven restored, would they see his crimes as warranting action? It had not been a question with Gabriel—they'd been too focused on Sam's transition, Mary and Gabriel's resurrections, and the daily crisis that came with life in the bunker. Besides, Gabriel had no desire to act as an administrator in Heaven when there was a fledgling in need on Earth.

 _No, Castiel,_ Raphael answered slowly. _Father has forgiven us for...well, many things. Everything._

 _He told you that?_ Castiel asked, frowning.

The archangel tilted his head. _Yes, He did._

 _I do not understand. Why would that change Michael's judgment?_

Raphael moved around the bed and sat by Castiel's feet, facing the seraph. _It changes everything. Father has never offered forgiveness to any outside humanity, although I suspect He started that process with you._

 _But..._ Castiel trailed off, at a loss for words. That couldn't be right.

The Healer smiled knowingly. _Until recently, y_ _ou were the only angel Father ever resurrected. And I understand it was not a one-time event._

 _I may have been resurrected more than once, but that is not the same..._ He shook his head.

 _Not the same as forgiveness?_ Raphael finished gently.

Castiel clenched his fists. _He never spoke to me. After Amara evicted Lucifer from my vessel, Chuck refused to even acknowledged my presence. That—_ He broke off, swallowing around the rising pressure in his chest. _That does not feel like forgiveness._

 _What does it feel like, Castiel?_

 _It feels like failure._ He had refused to think about it until now. The absolute indifference Chuck showed toward him was too painful. Dean's spontaneous declaration of brotherhood and kinship had tethered Castiel, keeping him from spiraling with the rejection. But the dismissal still hurt. _It feels like I was given a test over and over, and I failed to pass every time._

 _Brother..._ Raphael's voice sounded devastatingly sad.

 _It does not matter,_ Castiel lied and looked down at the sleeping brothers, fussing with their covers to keep his hands busy. _I already chose the Winchesters over Heaven a long time ago. Having Gabriel here, helping Sam with his grace—I never thought I would experience living as an angel again._

 _Do you fear that will be taken away?_

Castiel blinked rapidly, willing away the rush of panic. He had long been operating outside the control of Heaven, excluding the few times he'd assumed command himself. _Yes, but I do not deny my crimes, nor Heaven's right to justice._

 _If everyone guilty of crimes against Heaven were convicted, there would be no one left to claim that right to justice._ Raphael rested his hand on Castiel's leg, quieting his troubled grace. _We are all guilty. And we have all been forgiven. Our task is to move forward, to reconcile our past by working with purpose toward a new future. That future includes you, Castiel._

Slowly, Castiel raised his head to meet the archangel's gaze. _Does it also include me being permitted to remain with the Winchesters?_

Raphael serene expression morphed into a frown. _Would you honestly allow yourself to be removed? Willingly return your full service as a soldier to the armies of Heaven?_

Castiel knew the answer before the question was done being asked. _No._

 _Good! I am glad to hear that._ His face broke into a grin. _Otherwise, you would be having this discussion with Gabriel, and he would not take kindly to a member of his flock leaving without a fight. Especially to the likes of Michael._

Castiel felt like he was dreaming. Was Raphael _teasing_ him? Their conversation had taken a bizarre turn somewhere, and now he was a little lost. _I sincerely hope it does not come down to me fighting Michael. I would stand no chance of winning._

Raphael patted his leg and sat back. _You are officially considered assigned to Gabriel, as a member of this flock. It is a unique role—flocks have never before contained an archangel, a fledgling, or humans. Now, there is one with all three. You are pioneers of a new age._

Laughter bubbled up in his throat, but Castiel managed to contain it. How anyone saw them as "pioneers of a new age" was beyond him. "Group of outcasts barely surviving by the skin of their teeth" seemed like a better description. _I weep for those who look to us as an example for anything._

 _My apologies, Castiel, but I believe Gabriel is correct—you and I are very alike. We share many traits, and those similarities are reflected in our mistakes. But I have learned something recently._ He reached forward and wrapped his weathered hand around Castiel's fist. _I have learned that forgiveness allows for change. I saw it in our Father—Amara's forgiveness changed Him. He is no longer running from the guilt and pain caused by locking away His other half. I saw it in Michael and felt it in myself, when our Father forgave us. Remembering who I was meant to be and being granted the chance to try again is a gift. Who are we to deny you the same gift and opportunity?_

" **Will you? Really?** " Castiel whispered aloud, the words too important to share in a thought.

" **Brother, I have already forgiven you,** " he said just as softly. " **Can I dare ask for any in return? My failures have been destroying Heaven for eons—long before I targeted you specifically. The ripples of my mistakes tore these humans' lives apart, and the lives of so many others. I can never undo what I have done.** "

" **No, neither can I,** " Castiel agreed solemnly. " **But is that not the purpose of forgiveness? Mercy—for that which we ourselves can never atone. As you said, who am I to deny you the same?** " Raphael squeezed his hand, and Castiel felt a wave of gratitude. He wasn't sure if it came from the archangel or himself.

Footsteps in the hall broke the moment, and Gabriel appeared a second later with the laptop. He halted in the doorway at the sight of them on the bed, his golden eyes wide. _Am I interrupting? Because I can leave and come back later..._

 _It's fine, Gabriel,_ Castiel reassured him. _We were just clearing the air_

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!

Gabriel studied his brothers, debating whether or not to believe them. There was tension in the air, but it was fading into hopeful, excited energy. He knew these two had a complicated history—most of which occurred after his own death.

 _Okay. If you say so._ He set the laptop down on the coffee table and sank onto the sofa. The walk through the bunker had helped settle the immediate rage, but the anger was still there. It simmered just below the surface, as though it knew he was about to find more inciting material.

Sighing, Gabriel opened the laptop. It had no power cord, but that wasn't a problem. One of the benefits of existing among humans as they developed technology was being able to use it. He'd made it a point to become an expert in as many fields as possible—computers and cooking were two of his favorites to learn.

He trailed a finger along the side of the keyboard, checking for damage and surprise warding. Small amounts of water had seeped in through the vent, but it was easy to fix. He started the computer with a thought, pushing in just enough power to fully charge the batteries. A loud "beep," followed by a short melody, rang through the silence.

Gabriel cursed and stabbed at the mute button next to the built-in speakers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Raphael stand up and move closer.

 _Is it...supposed to do that?_ Raphael asked, brimming with curiosity. He sat beside Gabriel on the sofa to get a better look at the loading screen.

 _Yes, grandpa, it's supposed to do that,_ Gabriel answered sarcastically, elbowing his brother in the side to move him back. _Get your head outta my way before your halo fries the motherboard._

Raphael jerked back and moved a few inches down the sofa. _Is this far enough away?_

Gabriel chuckled quietly. _Yeah, you're good. I was joking...kinda. If you don't know how to use your grace around human technology, it can mess with it. I'm guessing you don't have a lot of experience dealing with computers._ He began to work his way through the system, typing commands with confidence. There were some newer protections he was unfamiliar with, reminding him that technology had advanced since his death. But it didn't take him long to shred most of the barriers.

 _No. I stopped paying attention when they began the Crusades._

That made Gabriel blink. _Why? Didn't like the show anymore? Someone kill off your favorite character?_

 _At the time, I no longer cared. There was too much death, too much despair. Humanity was rotting, our Father's message lost._

 _And the Messenger missing,_ Gabriel added with a grimace.

 _My brother was missing. My little hummingbird and constant companion was missing. I lost interest in my studies because every time I sat down, I expected to hear you buzzing in my ear. After a while, it became...too much. I turned my focus elsewhere._ Raphael shrugged, nervously smoothing down the fabric of his tunic.

 _Well, color me surprised!_ Gabriel felt flustered, caught between guilt and pleasure. _Who would have thought I made a good study buddy?_

Raphael looked over at the bed and relaxed with a small smile. _Just wait until you've had that little one over there chattering away on your shoulders for a century or two. The moment that noise stops is the moment you know something bad is about to happen. It usually involves hours of grooming and lectures because you'll be too flustered to do anything else._

 _Sam is prone to both finding and attracting trouble._ Castiel interjected, earning himself a glower from Gabriel.

 _Like we needed reminding. He couldn't even go for a walk in the damn yard with an archangel by his side!_ He tried to tease through the spike in irritation, but he knew some had still bled through when Castiel tensed. Gabriel exhaled and reached again for his calm.

Raphael's wing brush against his shoulders, steadying the younger archangel. _It was not your fault, Gabriel. No!_ A finger flicked Gabriel gently on the nose before he could disagree. _Do not interrupt me. The man had an impossible weapon—something he should have never known existed. This was not a reflection on you._

Gabriel rubbed his nose. _You are such a weirdo, Raph._ As soon as he dropped his hand, the finger flicked his nose again.

The screen went dark on the laptop, distracting Gabriel from seeking revenge. He reached for the keyboard when a window popped up. _Oh, shit! I'm in._ He carefully assessed what they were dealing with. _Not too bad. Looks like the British Men of Letters works over their own client portal. Sweet Dad above, we can actually search their database by creature name. I don't know if they're arrogant bastards or shitty geniuses. Either way, my job just got a whole lot easier._

 _They have access to a portal?_ Castiel sounded horrified. _I hadn't heard of computers providing gateways to other dimensions. Is this common practice or limited to rare exceptions?_

Gabriel stopped typing to stare at his brothers. _Are we even related? I mean, I can kinda understand how Raphael missed a millennium of human invention. But you, Cas? You've been down here for years with one of the biggest nerds on Earth. How did he not teach you better?_

 _He taught me how to Netflix,_ Castiel said, sticking his jaw out stubbornly, _and Google._

 _Did you just use the word "Netflix" as though it were a verb?_

 _Can it not be used the same as "Google?"_ Castiel asked.

Gabriel paused. _I don't actually know. English is weird. I'm surprised it hasn't completely changed since I died._

 _People use emojis a lot more now,_ Castiel said brightly.

 _Returning to hieroglyphs. Interesting choice, humanity..._

A folder name grabbed Gabriel's attention. It read, "PROJECT: HALO" in bold letters. He rolled his eyes at the predictability of stupid people.

He clicked on it and felt his rage return full-force. The folder was overflowing with documents—orders for the agents sent to the US, a detailed observation log covering the period of almost a month, full dossiers on each Winchester and a couple dozen people tied to them, photographs spanning the boys' entire lives.

Gabriel scanned them all quickly, ignoring Raphael's attempts to cool his rising anger as he saw pictures of _his_ flock laughing around the firepit. Sam had told them during the ride home that the Brits had been watching the bunker, but this was extensive. And it all happened with an archangel present.

The most recently updated file proved to be a series of videos. He searched the time-stamps and started the earliest recording. The archangels both watched, frozen, as a room appeared on the screen. Raphael sucked in a breath.

 _What? What is it?_ Gabriel asked without looking away from the video. He turned the sound back on, dialing it down to its lowest setting so it wouldn't wake anyone. A woman appeared in front of the camera, which seemed be the laptop itself. She was typing on a keyboard that sat just below the range of the lens.

 _That is the woman Michael took back to Heaven. And she is in the room where they kept Samuel._ Raphael explained, pointing to the tall metal bars of a kennel behind the woman.

Gabriel slowly nodded, taking in all the details now that he knew the room's significance. _Okay then. Let's do this. And everyone remember to keep our emotions under control. Sam doesn't need to wake up because we get pissed. There's a pause button—tell me if you need me to hit it._

They watched in silence. Gabriel knew Raphael was relaying the images to Castiel—he felt the seraph's horror grow in tempo to his own. He used his grace and computer skills to allow them to observe the day's worth of footage in about four hours—not including the three times they had to take breaks. By the time the explosion knocked the camera into static, all three angels were shaking.

Raphael stood, reaching past Gabriel to shut the laptop. _Enough,_ his true-voice growled deeply. Stepping past the coffee table, he walked out into the hallway. Gabriel heard him begin to pace and left him to it. He knew the Healer needed to process what he'd witnessed. They all did.

Looking at the bed, he felt his anger slightly dim. Castiel was hunched down on the bed, curling closer behind Sam as though bodily shielding the boy from what was on the computer. Or from the potential threat of two furious archangels. He ran trembling fingers methodically through the visible tufts of hair.

Gabriel rubbed his eyes and let his ire drain down to a manageable level. When he felt a semblance of self-restraint return, he stood and stretched his vessel. Slowly, he walked over to Castiel and sat against the headboard beside him.

 _You okay?_ Gabriel asked after several long minutes of silence.

 _I knew it would be bad, but that..._ Castiel shook his head without turning.

 _Yeah, that was worse,_ Gabriel agreed, leaning more against the younger angel.

 _What do we do now, Gabriel?_ Blue eyes finally looked at him. They were red-rimmed and shining with unshed tears, begging for an answer. _Sam has always been strong—much stronger than people credit him. But he was already struggling so much with the changes from his grace._

 _We do what we've been doing, little brother. Sam finds comfort in consistency—needs it to feel safe._ Gabriel tugged at one of Castiel's wings until his brother allowed it to be extended. Settling back against the pillows, he started grooming to soothe them both. _So, we keep him eating, keep him sleeping, keep him talking. We take things a day at a time or an hour at a time, depending on what's needed._

 _The things those people did and said to him though,_ Castiel looked at him skeptically, _I do not see how it can be fixed with chocolate milk or naps._

 _Hey! Never underestimate the healing power of chocolate,_ Gabriel teased and pulled harder than necessary on the area he was grooming.

Castiel scowled which only made the archangel want to pinch his pouting face. _I am being serious, Gabriel. How will that be enough?_

Gabriel considered his answer as he studied the flustered seraph. _Cassie, I'm being serious, too. I know you guys all deal with world-ending apocalypses on a yearly basis, but most problems can_ not _be fixed by one giant solution. There's no pill, no spell, no miracle to take everything that's happened to Sam away. Not even Dad could do that. He gave Sam His grace to set him on a path. Each little step takes him further toward getting better, toward healing and wholeness._

Castiel looked thoughtful now instead of skeptical. _And those steps include chocolate milk and naps?_

 _You said it earlier—Sam was already struggling. Most days, we see this kid questioning reality before breakfast. He wakes up not knowing if he's in the cage or alone in his own body. Hopefully, we can change that, but it takes time. And in order to get that time, he has to make it through each day. If we have to wrap him in blankets and sing until he feels safe enough to sleep, so be it. If we have to time-travel to find his favorite foods to make sure he eats, so be it. I will utilize all of my abilities to see that happen, because we can't tackle the big problems if pesky little things like physical health go untended._

 _I had not thought about it in those terms. Both brothers tend to prefer decidedly unhealthy coping mechanisms, but I never considered the importance of the "little things" unless they had turned into major obstacles._

Gabriel snorted. _Spoken like a true Winchester, bro._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
**

I am SOOO sorry this chapter took me a lifetime to finish.  
I had some severe writer's constipation for this part. I always seem to hit a snag when there's less action smothered in fluffs.  
On the plus side though, I ended up mapping out the next couple major arcs in detail!  
Rest assured, even if there's a delay in posting, I am hard at work on this universe.

Thank you to everyone for reading, and for their comments and kudos!  
SUPER SHOUTOUT to nathyfaith for our daily conversations and mad beta skillz!  
From serious meta to total crack-fests, it's always a blessing.

 **COME BE MY FRIEND ON TUMBLR: THERIVERSCRIBE**


	22. After the Storm pt5

**AFTER THE STORM  
PART 5: NOW I CLING TO WHAT I KNEW**

Sam awoke in stages, floating to consciousness on a cozy cloud. He was wonderfully warm, his mind half-wrapped in sleep. His limbs were heavy and too lazy to respond, and for once it all felt fantastic. There was only peace and contentment.

He let himself drift until hushed voices caught his ear. They were nothing but quiet murmurs—sounds without meaning. He recognized one—it was coming from inside his pillow. His _moving_ pillow.

With a groan, Sam forced his eyes to open. He blinked several times before the haze lifted, making way for a healthy dose of embarrassment. At some point in the night, Sam had apparently moved from his platform of pillows to end up draped over Dean. His brother's left arm pinned him in place. The entire situation was impossible to escape without being noticed.

"Well, look who decided to join us," Dean whispered, his voice still gruff from sleep. It didn't seem like he'd been awake for very long.

Sam tried to roll over but something solid was in his way. Pushing up onto his elbows, he looked over his shoulder to find Castiel sitting very close. "Hey Cas," he started, then trailed off when he noticed how the angel's trench coat had been multi-purposed to serve as the brothers' blanket. In a room with more blankets than people, why on Earth was he wrapped in the corner of Castiel's coat? "Did something happen?" he asked.

"You started having a nightmare," Castiel answered quietly, as though that explained everything. The angel helped Sam unwrap himself from the fabric and sit up.

"Umm, okay," Sam said, looking to Dean for further explanation. Nightmares were not new—he'd had them his entire life. But they hadn't led to a damn cuddle pile since they were both little kids sharing a bed.

Dean shrugged and pushed himself up against the headboard with a grin. "You got a bit restless last night. At least you didn't drool too much." Sam wiped his mouth automatically and Dean chuckled.

Looking around, Sam saw that Mary was fast asleep and the archangels were suspiciously absent. He stretched, noticing for the first time how different he felt. All of the pain was gone, but his body still braced for it when he moved. Rolling his shoulders, he was startled by the sudden vibrations in the center of his back.

Sam tried to see over his shoulders, but he could only manage to make out a faint glow. "What the...?"

"Do they hurt?" Castiel asked, leaning forward anxiously. "I've called—"

Gabriel appeared next to them in a cloud of flour. "What's wrong?!"

"Nothing's wrong," Sam coughed and waved his hand to fan the flour away. "Were you in some kind of baking battle?"

"Oh God, my kitchen!" Dean croaked in horror.

Raphael flew in, completely spotless, and gave his brother a disapproving frown. "Really, Gabriel?" He waved a hand and the mess of powder disappeared. The Healer then turned to Sam with a smile. "Good morning, Samuel. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Sam answered, trying not to shrink under the archangel's gaze. Now that Sam could access his grace again, Raphael was even more intimidating. In fact, the presence of the two archangels filled the room with power. The vibrations on his back thrummed, sending shivers down his spine and a heat across his shoulders.

"Ahh," Raphael said with understanding before stepping back. He lowered himself onto the mattress and appeared to grow smaller.

"'Ahh' what?" Sam hated feeling like he'd missed something. He looked at Gabriel, reaching back between his shoulder blades. "What's happening here? It's weird."

"It's just your wings moving around, kiddo." Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed, nudging Dean's feet over. The hunter gave a halfhearted kick before relinquishing the space.

"Is this normal?" he asked. As his frustration rose, the wings shifted more. "Are they going to do this a lot? Move around all on their own? Because I didn't ask them to move."

"Well.." Gabriel bit his lip. Sam stared him down until he answered. "They'll probably be doing that for a while—at least until you learn to control them. Right now, they're reacting to your emotions and thoughts on a kind of instinctive level."

"What?!" Sam's arms flailed for a second as the wings almost toppled him over. Mercifully, Castiel grabbed his hand and kept him upright. "Are you saying I'm basically wearing a giant mood ring on my back?"

"Don't worry, dude—I can't see your _mood wings_ ," Dean said with too much cheer. "Which is really too bad, because I would pay money to see how those things interpret your bitch-face."

The scowl Sam gave his brother was second nature. He wasn't expecting Gabriel to burst out laughing. "You're right, Deano. You _would_ pay money to see them."

Raphael cleared his throat, and Sam found himself grateful to the older archangel for drawing the others' attention. "It is completely normal, Samuel. And you will learn to control them, but not until they are done forming. We can teach you theory and work on your other grace-related abilities, but your wings won't be flight-ready for a couple of weeks."

Sam tried to smile but felt it come out more as a grimace. He couldn't help it—the grace already made his emotions sit on the surface. To know that everything he tried to keep contained inside was now going to physically manifest for any angel to see was one of his worst-case scenarios.

"I'm guessing they feel pretty different." Gabriel leaned closer to get a better look at Sam's wings.

"If, by 'different' you mean 'like my spine is a guitar string being strummed,' then yes, I feel different." Sam hissed in irritation when the electric hum sitting just under his skin intensified.

"That's a pretty accurate description. Now, does anything hurt?" Gabriel asked, growing serious.

Sam shook his head. "Not really. I mean, I'm not in pain like yesterday. It's just... _weird_." He didn't know how else to convey how disconcerting it was to develop new limbs.

"That doesn't answer his question, Sam," Dean said with a pointed look, "Don't get me wrong—I'm glad you're not hurting like you were yesterday, but considering the state you were in twenty-four hours ago, that isn't saying much."

Sam pulled his right foot into his lap and inspected the sole. Fresh pink skin had replaced the seared mess, erasing all evidence of injury. He ran a finger over the smooth surface and was almost disturbed by the lack of discomfort. It was like the whole torturous affair had only been a dream. "No," he finally said in a quiet voice. "It doesn't hurt at all."

"What about your...back?" Dean pressed. The hunter was frowning in concentration, like he thought he might be able to see the wings if he stared hard enough.

"It's annoying, but not painful. I don't know how to explain it. Besides, I've barely moved in two days. I won't know how everything is doing until I've had the chance to walk like a person again." He peered over the edge of the mattress at the ground. It wasn't that far, but the last thing he wanted to do was crumple to the floor on weak legs in front of so many attentive eyes. "Dean, can you...?" He held out a hand, hoping his brother would understand.

Dean looked skeptical. "You sure you're ready for walking when sitting is such a challenge?"

Sam kept his hand out, insisting, "My injuries were just fixed by three angels—one of whom is the most powerful healer in existence besides God Himself. I think I should be able to walk."

"Alright," Dean said, still sounding doubtful, "If you say so. Any objections from the God-Squad?"

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself when he saw the archangels turn to silently confer with each other. Gabriel's face was almost comically fretful and he wrung his hands together as though preventing himself from picking Sam up. But his pleading eyes were met with calm amusement from the Healer who simply shook his head and smiled.

"Samuel is correct," Raphael said aloud, "He can walk, Gabriel."

Sam shared an exasperating look with Castiel who just shrugged as though to say, 'what can we do?'

Dean waited for Gabriel to nod before he gave in. "Alright, dude, just make sure you take it easy. Jesus, you don't even have socks. Where did your socks go?" Without waiting for an answer, he dug through the bedding until he found the one Sam had kicked off in the night. "I forgot you only had one on last night. You can't—"

"I swear, if you tell me I can't walk without socks on both feet..." Sam trailed off, unsure how to finish the threat.

The 'woosh' of wings sounded from behind him, and Sam turned quickly, fearing a new arrival. But worry turned to confusion when he realized Castiel had suddenly left them. They sat in silence, staring at the empty space on the bed where the angel had sat through the night, until a moment later when Castiel returned. He was carrying what appeared to be every bundled pair of socks that sat in Sam's drawers. "There is no use arguing over little things when there are simple solutions," the angel said directly to Dean. The hunter's only response was an impressive eye-roll.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said. Somehow, Castiel always knew the right thing to do or say around him, and constantly supported Sam's decisions. He still wasn't used to it.

Castiel bowed his head and gave a brief smile. "You are welcome," he said as he held out the socks. A few pairs tumbled off the top of the pile and landed on the bed. "I wasn't sure which pair you would prefer."

Sam blinked through the rush of emotion. Why did the little things feel so important? The small decisions that gave him back control piece by piece—how did Castiel understand him so well? He nodded and reached for a pair that had rolled next to him.

"Give it time and you'll get used to having them. And once you learn how to use those babies, you'll love them." Gabriel sounded so confident that Sam didn't have the heart to contradict him. "Are you hungry? I was teaching Raphael how to make pancakes. Spoiler alert—he's an old, old man who tried to stifle my creativity."

"I did not try to stifle your creativity. I merely observed that the amount of sugar you wanted to add to the batter was obscene," Raphael countered. "And need I remind you that I am not that much older than you, brother? You remain one of the oldest beings in all of creation—you have no room to brag about youthfulness."

"For Dad's sake, Raphael. Don't say it like that! At least not in front of the kids. I'll lose all my credibility as the cool-archangel." Gabriel winked at Castiel.

"I am not a child, Gabriel." Castiel argued.

"Of course not, Cassie. You're a big-angel." Gabriel patted Castiel's leg and stood up. "So, are you hungry?"

Sam thought about it and was surprised to find that he probably _could_ eat—which was unheard of after everything he'd just been through. He looked suspiciously at Gabriel. "Kinda. Did you do something?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Don't look at me like that! It's the healing—you used up a lot of energy the last couple days, and having that much grace-work done at once is even more exhausting. Your body needs replenishing now that it isn't focused on fixing itself. Come on, all of you. Let's give your mom some more time to sleep."

"Too late." They all jumped at the groggy voice that came from the other bed. Mary was slowly sitting up. Her tangled blond hair stuck out in every direction and there were pillow marks on her cheeks.

Mary in the morning was one of Sam's favorite sights now. She always seemed so put together through the day, but she woke up just as messy as everyone else. Sam thought she was perfect.

"Sorry. We didn't mean to wake you up," Sam said sheepishly. Even after two weeks, he still felt a little lost around their mother.

Mary waved off his apology, yawning, and tied her hair up in a wild knot. "You're looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning. How are you feeling?"

"All better!" Sam said, putting on his best smile, and Dean snorted.

Mary rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then studied each person in turn. The only thing that would have made them look more suspicious was if Gabriel had still been coated in flour. "Really?" she asked, unconvinced.

"Why does she think you have a bushy-tail?" Castiel whispered to Sam.

"It's a saying—it means someone's alert and ready to go," Sam explained, jumping on the change of topic.

Mary's eyes softened, and Sam suspected he was more transparent than usual now. "I think it's supposed to allude to a squirrel. You know, how they always look so excited and eager and happy as they bounce around."

"I thought Dean was usually referred to as a squirrel." Castiel sounded even more confused.

"Okay!" Dean stood abruptly. "Time for breakfast. I'm hungry. Are you hungry? Come on, Sammy."

Sam clumsily crawled through the mess of blankets to the edge of the bed. His limbs were like cumbersome weights and caused him to pitch forward toward the floor. Hands instantly caught him.

"Whoa there, speedy," Gabriel said, placing him carefully back on the bed. "Sorry, I forgot to take the rest of the grace-wrap off of you. Hold on. There you go."

The heaviness dissolved, leaving Sam feeling weightless and dizzy as a rush of energy flowed through him. His senses sharpened and his mind became fully alert like he'd just chugged a whole pot of coffee. A casual desire for food grew to gnawing hunger and his stomach growled.

"Yup. Time for food. And I hope you showed up covered in flour because you cooked instead of the Doc," Dean gestured at Raphael as he swung his feet to the ground. "I doubt he appreciates bacon like us."

"Doc?" Raphael asked slowly, as though he were testing a foreign word.

"Isn't that what you are? The angel doctor or something?" Dean frowned.

"Ah, yes, I am known as the Healer, but it is more of a title."

"Yeah, I'm not calling you that," Dean said, shaking his head.

"You could call me Raphael," the Healer suggested.

Dean just grunted and reached to take Sam's hands. "We'll see," he mumbled.

Sam carefully slid to the floor. He still felt weightless from the wrap's removal and he barely noticed he was standing. The absence of pain left him almost numb. He kept his hold on Dean as he shifted his weight back and forth between feet, testing his strength and balance. "I think I'm good," he said, letting go of his brother's hands.

Dean kept one in his grip, refusing to let Sam stand alone quite yet. "Uh huh, and what happens if you get startled and those wings knock you on your ass?"

"Then I guess I'll learn to live with a bruised butt." Sam tried to tug his hand loose. "I thought that would be your favorite part about all this. Quit acting like you aren't going to be waiting with the camera and cheesy one-liners."

"Puh-lease. No one here is learning to live with bruises while we're around," Gabriel interrupted, gesturing at the other two angels.

Sam used the distraction to slip free of his brother and started walking toward the hallway. His heart beat faster just knowing everyone was watching him. If he could make it to his own room, then maybe he could lock the door and gain a few seconds of privacy.

"Dean, why don't we let your brother get himself dressed while we go check on the others. And I'm sure Gabriel wouldn't mind starting breakfast." Mary gently, but firmly, directed the others.

Sam didn't dare glance behind him, but he allowed a sigh of relief to escape as he turned the corner and left the room. He heard the rest of them give varying grumbles in reply before moving off in different directions.

A single set of footsteps drew closer. Sam took a deep breath before turning to see who'd followed him. The tension building in his shoulders drained away when he saw Castiel.

"We're you sent to make sure I don't accidentally die putting on pants?" Sam asked.

"They are all quite protective of you," Castiel said with a nod, not denying Sam's question. "It will probably continue until the memory of their earlier helplessness has faded. I cannot speak to Dean and Mary's experience of trying to reach you, but I do know that Gabriel and I...well, 'frantic' does not adequately describe our state."

"Yeah," Sam winced, knowing he and Dean tended to react when the other was in danger, "I'm used to Dean going a bit overboard after a bad hunt. But we've never had a whole group fussing over us before. It's, umm, a little much sometimes."

"I think I understand."

Sam looked up at Castiel. "You do?"

"As a soldier of Heaven, I grew accustomed to being invisible. 'Lost in a crowd,' as humans say. My superiors treated me as a tool, and when I strayed from my path, I was re-shaped to suite their purpose." Castiel pushed Sam's door open to let them in, then closed it behind them. "Some of my early memories were lost to Heaven's reprogramming. I only have a vague sense of how Heaven used to be before Lucifer's fall. And even then, I was considered a loner."

"And now, you have two over-bearing big brothers who want to coddle you at every turn?" Sam asked.

"Gabriel has been easier to adjust to—he has always been different from the rest of the flock for his playful and creative nature. But Raphael..." Castiel trailed off, shaking his head, and sat on Sam's bed with his back turned for privacy.

Sam grabbed clothes at random and quickly stripped. "Yeah, I can see how that could be awkward. You guys didn't have the best history, what with killing each other and stuff."

Castiel huffed. "He says he forgives me."

"Do you doubt him? Like he's lying to get you on his good side?" Sam started as his heart picked up speed again.

"No," Castiel said, bewildered, "I know he is sincere."

"Then why do you sound like someone just told you Santa Claus is real?"

"He also said our Father forgives me." Castiel's voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"Oh." Sam paused with only one leg through his black cotton pants. They were similar to adult workout clothes and one step above pajamas—perfect for lounging around post-injury. He shook his head and rushed to finish so he could face Castiel. "That sounds...heavy."

"Yes, it is," the angel's shoulders sagged, "especially considering He never said anything to me while He was here."

"Yeah, that's weird. My dad was kinda the same way." Sam grabbed the gray sweater and walked around the bed to stand in front of his friend. "Dean said that Dad would secretly check up on me when I went to Stanford. I spent four years thinking he'd wiped my existence from memory. He did things like that all the time—send vague messages through Dean and assume I'd understand he loved me."

"Our Father left after Lucifer fell, but He never really spoke to the seraphs. There was a rigid hierarchy in Heaven, and few ever strayed from their place to interact with others." Castiel gave Sam a sad smile. "After spending so much time searching for Him, I guess I had hoped for more than a message sent through another."

"I'm sorry, Cas." Sam laid a hand over the angel's arm.

"Thank you, Sam. And I am sorry too. You deserved better from John."

"Yeah," Sam whispered, blinking rapidly. He felt the thrumming between his shoulder blades just as he was thrown forward into the bed. The air left his lungs with an audible 'oomph' and he grabbed hold of the blanket for balance.

Castiel chuckled, and Sam would have glared if he thought move wouldn't cause him to fall. The vibrations grew sharper and he wished he could scratch them. A hand came to rest on the top of his back, just above where the wings seemed rooted. "These are very expressive, aren't they?" Castiel's smooth tones carried a hint of amusement.

"What are they _doing?_ " Sam groaned.

"Manifesting your irritation," Castiel answered simply. His hand kneaded into the tense muscle, then moved down to run over the wings. The thrumming instantly stilled under his touch and Sam huffed into the mattress.

"Do they look as ridiculous as they feel?" Sam tried to joke.

"No more so than any emotional expression," Castiel tilted his head in contemplation of the question. "Do you think I look ridiculous when I smile? Does Dean when he cries?" The wings flared against the angel's palm, and he again calmed them.

"I don't mean..." Sam drew away, worried he'd offended Castiel, but there was only concern and understanding in those blue eyes. "No, of course you don't look ridiculous, but there's still an element of control there. You could easily not smile. And Dean only cries when things are at their worst—like end-of-the-world bad. Normally, we suppress things until we can have our breakdowns in privacy."

"I am constantly amazed by human limitations when it comes to emotions." Castiel shook his head. "One of the hardest lessons I had to learn was how to express myself in a human vessel. It is very different for angels, as you are just now learning. We share everything through our grace, and there is a shared unspoken language built around nuance and harmonies, gestures and colors, all of which does not register on the physical plane as you know it."

"But I don't know any of that unspoken language, Cas. I may have been turned into some kind of angel, but I didn't get a handbook with instructions. This grace doesn't feel like it's part of me—and I definitely don't feel like an angel."

"I cannot imagine how this has been for you," Castiel said as he continued to slowly run his hands over the agitated grace. It felt so different from Gabriel's grooming sessions or when Raphael had worked on them the night before. Sam wondered if all the angels would start petting him now. "When I became human, the adjustment was not easy. It took me weeks to recognize and name my physical needs—hunger, exhaustion, and a full bladder were things I knew of conceptually but not personally."

"I'm so sorry, Cas. You should have never had to be alone while..."

"Sam, you were hardly in a position to change the situation," Castiel cut him off. "The point is, learning to be human was much easier than it was learning how to be _not_ an angel. I felt blind and deaf and mute. And so very, very small."

"Oh, I'm feeling pretty small here too," Sam said wryly.

Castiel returned it with his usual half-grin. "That is true. You are the first angel to have a physical aspect to their true-form. And I have no doubt that you will be a fast learner when it comes to using your grace."

"Remember when my biggest goal in life was to be as normal as possible?" Sam sighed wistfully.

"And now you are unique among all of creation." Castiel said with a raised eyebrow.

"Pretty much." Sam rolled his shoulders, but his wings remained still. Maybe his grace just needed him to vent a little. "Am I good to put on a shirt now? I've never been a walk-around-topless kinda guy."

"Yes. The fabric won't interfere with your wings now that Raphael has sealed them." He ran his palm one more time over the grace before pulling away. "We should hurry—I do not want to leave Gabriel and Raphael alone too long. Dean would never forgive them if they destroy his kitchen."

* * *

"I will never forgive you if you destroy my kitchen. Got it, short-stuff?" Dean stared down the archangel with the authority of one who'd fought with designers of the universe—and won.

"Whoa there, bring it down a few notches! I promise the kitchen is in perfect condition, Deano." Gabriel crossed his vessels heart and held up three fingers in the Boy Scout sign.

"Only because _I_ cleaned it when you flew off," Raphael casually mentioned.

"Which I knew you would do, you predictable old coot! Who cares how it got done?"

"Gabriel..." Dean started, but cut off when the archangel raised a finger for silence.

Gabriel looked in the direction Sam and Castiel had gone, listening for a moment. Whatever he heard seemed to be reassuring and he turned to them with a serious expression. "Before Sam comes back, I wanted to let you know that I hacked into the Brit's laptop last night."

Thoughts of the kitchen evaporated, his mind switching immediately into hunter's mode. "And?" he demanded.

"And it's not pretty. They kept detailed notes and video logs of Sam's captivity. I wanted to let you know before we talked to Sam about it—give everyone a chance to get their rage out. When we have our routine grooming session later, y'all can check it out. I figured we'd give the kid some time to settle before we ask him anything." Gabriel glanced toward Sam's room again.

"Why do we need to question him?" Dean paced, the need for action building. His fingers itched to get hold of the laptop so he could _know._

"We don't need to question him," Gabriel said slowly, staring at Dean like he was a riddle, "He needs to talk about it."

"What, like a therapy session?" Dean snorted. He may joke about Sam's love of chick-flick moments, but neither of them were big on sharing their personal pains. They usually only tolerated the emotional scenes together when it directly concerned the other brother—wrongs they had done, confessing lies and manipulations, or their too-frequent 'last conversation before certain death.'

"Yes, like a therapy session." Gabriel crossed his arms. "I know you guys aren't big on discussing your feelings, but this wasn't exactly a skinned knee. Were you...were you _not_ planning on talking to him about it?"

"I dunno." Dean shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with everyone's overly concerned eyes. "We've got a routine."

"Involving copious amounts of alcohol?" Gabriel asked.

Dean opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. "I didn't say our routine wasn't in need of some revisions."

"That's putting it mildly." Gabriel smirked. "Tell me again how you managed to talk my Dad and His sister into reconciling?"

"Because he has a blunt tongue, a bold heart, and a sharp eye," Raphael said. "Which are good traits when dealing with our stubborn Father. But your brother may need a gentler approach."

Dean took a deep breath, taken aback by Raphael's description. "I...I was gonna give him some space. Stick to the basics for a couple days, make sure he eats and sleeps, see how he behaves. If I saw something off, we'd sort it out."

"You will not have to 'sort it out' alone," Raphael reassured him, firmly clasping Dean's shoulder, "You have us and there is time to form an actual plan."

Dean's eyes stared at the hand touching him, then looked up into the archangel's kind face. "Uh, thanks, I guess. But I'm not the one you have to worry about."

"What do you mean?" Mary finally spoke. He's seen her silently watching them from where she still sat on the edge of her bed.

"You think it was hard to get him to drink a glass of milk last night?" Dean looked at each of them in turn. "Give it a day or two. You ain't seen nothing yet."

Before anyone could respond, Gabriel half-jumped in place. "Oh, they're almost done and I haven't finished breakfast! Last one to the kitchen does the dishes." He snapped and disappeared.

Mary rolled her eyes and got up. "Come on. You can try to keep him out of trouble while I go check on Jody and the twins."

"Thanks for giving me the easy task." He joked, nudging her lightly with his elbow as they walked into the hallway. He didn't expect her instant retaliation in the form of a solid hip-check that sent him bouncing into the wall. "Woman!"

"Don't start something you can't finish, young man," she wagged her finger at him as she breezed past.

"You know, technically I'm older than you!" Dean called after her.

"That's nice dear!" she called back without turning around.

Dean stopped in his tracks, staring at her retreating form. He searched desperately for a better comeback, but she was gone before he could form words. Instead, he leaned against the wall outside his brother's room and grinned. It was little moments like these that drove home the reality of their mother's return and he loved it.

"She is a very interesting woman," Raphael said.

"Ah!" Dean jumped, forgetting the archangel was still there. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—don't _do_ that!" he yelled, clutching his chest and glaring up at the towering figure. How had he never realized how tall Raphael's new vessel was?

Raphael's expression turned concerned and he took a step forward. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not! You gave me a heart attack!" he swore under his breath and hoped Sam hadn't heard the undignified squeal. "I swear, if I have to train the whole damn host...it took threatening Cas with a bell if he didn't quit sneaking up on me for him to learn."

"A bell?"

The door to Sam's room opened, cutting off Dean's response. Castiel stood there, eyeing the two with a blend of worry and suspicion. "What—"

"Everything's fine," Dean snapped, "I'm putting bells on all your brothers."

Castiel's gaze darted to Raphael, and he relaxed with understanding. "Ah. I see," he said with a nod, "You do realize I have thousands of siblings, right? It will take you a lot of time, and bells, to get them all."

"Then I guess I better start now," Dean shot back.

"Nice scream, Dean." Sam teased from Castiel's side. "For a second, I thought you might have been turned into a kid too. Or a banshee."

"What was that?" Dean asked, crouching down to Sam's level. He cupped his hand behind his ear for effect. "I couldn't hear you from way up there. You said you want juice instead of coffee at breakfast this week?"

"You wouldn't..."

"In a sippy cup?"

Sam's scowl changed so quickly Dean almost dropped their game. The familiar frown gave way to another well-known, more disarming tactic. Enormous, watery eyes peered up at Dean through curly bangs as Sam chewed on his bottom lip. Damn it but the kid had perfected his routine before he'd left diapers.

"Don't you dare..." Dean started, trying to ward off the surge of big-brother instinct that always accompanied such a look.

Sam shifted his eyes to Castiel and dialed it up to an eleven. "Cas..." he said in a small, pitiful voice.

Dean turned to the angels and knew they were already lost causes. Whatever they saw when they looked at Sam had made them useless piles of mush. He didn't know Castiel's face could be so soft. Flicking Sam's nose to get his attention, Dean warned, "If you play the cute-kid card, then I will carry you around and make you take naps."

They stared each other down until Sam eventually relented. The kid rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. Truce."

Dean smiled in victory, secretly grateful—his knees were about to give out from crouching so long. "Yeah, sure. Come on. We gotta make sure Gabe hasn't destroyed my kitchen." His joints cracked loudly when he pushed himself to standing. Sam smirked at the sound, but wisely kept his mouth shut about it.

They walked slowly to the kitchen, all of them letting Sam set the pace. Dean hung toward the back of the group so he could observe his brother. So far, the kid seemed alright—a little shaky at times, but he only stumbled once.

The playful banter and teasing let Dean know that Sam was trying to put everyone at ease. It was usually Dean's tactic, but Sam had used it when he thought others might worry. And while Sam-the-Smartass-Comedian was a hell of a lot better than Curled-in-a-Corner-Terrified-Sam, it was still a mask.

He'd actually expected his brother to be more shutdown than anything. Then Dean would be focused on slowly drawing Sam out of his cocoon. If Sam was this feisty so soon after being kidnapped and tortured, it usually meant they'd be dealing with fast-changing mood swings. He'd be surprised if Sam didn't have at least one angry outburst by dinnertime.

The sound of laughter and jazz poured out of the kitchen as they walked in. Everyone was awake and gathered around the center island. A feast of comfort foods arranged in bright-colored bowls was spread out on the table. It was like walking into a New Orleans street cafe.

Gabriel, with a skillet in each hand, juggled pancakes from one surface to the next in an amazing feat of dexterity and timing. His eyes lit up when he saw them enter. "We were just about to send a search party!"

Dean ruffled Sam's hair, making a bee-line for the coffee. "Someone isn't as tall as he used to be. You have to compensate extra time for a six-year-old's gait."

Sam snorted and lightly kicked him in the back of the heel. "And someone isn't as young as he used to be. We had to wait to make sure he'd be able to stand from a crouch. He may need one of those LifeAlert buttons on a necklace in case he's alone one day and can't get back up."

The laughter was deafening.

Dean sent a mock-threatening glare at his brother who responded with a cheeky grin. His mind flashed to the previous morning—Sam's face streaked in grime, eyes red from smoke and tears, barely able to speak. Turning, he prepared his coffee with his back to the room, trying to push the images from his mind.

"So, you're Raphael, right?" he heard Alicia ask.

"I am." The low bass of the archangel's voice rumbled through the kitchen clatter.

"Oooh," the twins shivered in unison. Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Max rubbing his arms to get rid of goosebumps. Alicia had her hand over her mouth and was staring in wonder.

Gabriel yelled something in Enochian that made Castiel and Sam look amused, and slightly horrified, as they waited for the older angel's response. Raphael's voice fell even deeper when speaking the ancient language. Gabriel rattled off more unintelligible words.

Whatever was said had Sam snorting. "Dean's gonna bring you some 'glad tidings' if you don't switch back to English, Gabriel."

Gabriel just laughed. "Heaven forbid Dean Winchester do something angelic!" He clapped his hands as though he didn't already have the room's attention. "Alright, everyone. Here's the thing—this space is a bit too small for all of us, plus dishes. Do we want the war room or outside by the fire? Say the word and I'll move the feast." He raised a hand and waited for an answer.

Dean looked at Sam. The kid was using Castiel as a partial shield, standing just behind his trench-coat. He would have rolled his eyes at Sam's childish behavior if it weren't for the fact that Dean was ready to duck behind Castiel too. Team Free Will was still adjusting to the addition of Mary and Gabriel—nine people in the kitchen made him antsy.

Sam's nervousness grew, his gaze fixed on the floor to avoid making the decision. But was it the overcrowded conditions or the prospect of going outside that was putting him on edge? Dean couldn't tell without at least eye contact.

"Is it warm enough to go outside?" Jody asked.

Gabriel wiggled the fingers of his still-raised hand. "Umm, archangel, remember? Phenomenal cosmic powers include temperature control."

"And an 'itty bitty living space?'" Jody continued the line.

"Did you both just..." Alicia started.

"...quote Genie from _Aladdin?_ " Max finished.

Gabriel answered with a wink.

"Outside. Fresh air might do us some good," Dean decided before someone burst into song. He glanced at Sam and worried he'd chosen wrong. His brother was unconsciously clutching the coat tail. Well, it was too late to change his vote now—it would only draw more attention to Sam. He'd keep an eye on the kid and they'd make a retreat back inside if things turned bad.

Gabriel's eyes darted to Sam, taking in the change. Nodding at Dean with a slightly forced smile, the archangel waved his hand and the made the food disappear. "Outside it is! Come along, youngsters. Have you seen my sweet firepit yet? Never burns out. I don't think those boys even knew they had a yard back there before I came along..." He hooked an arm around Jody and Alicia's waists, leading them out of the kitchen. The others followed close behind them, letting Cas and the brothers fall to the back.

"You good, Sam?" Dean muttered.

Sam let go of Castiel's coat, shoving his hands into his pockets instead. "I'm fine. As long as it's warm," his smile was thin and fake, "and there aren't any more of those banishing bombs."

"Oh." Dean stopped walking. _That_ was what had Sam so anxious—he feared being attacked again? But they had experienced so many other terrible things at the bunker, and Sam hadn't avoided those areas. Had he? Dean couldn't remember now. "Do you wanna stay here? We could make Cas get us plates and binge some _Hobbit_ and _Rings._ "

Sam finally met his eyes only to slap him with a strong scowl. "Cas isn't a servant. We aren't making him do anything—especially get our food. Besides, I was just joking."

"You sure? I don't mind sta—"

"Dean, stop." Sam interrupted.

"Stop what?" Dean asked, bewildered. Forget dinner—at this rate, they wouldn't even make it to breakfast without a major meltdown.

"Stop babying me!" Sam snapped.

"I'm not!" Dean's voice rose in response. He looked at Castiel for back up, but the angel was studying Sam.

"You are, and it's weird. Dude, we were _snuggling_ when I woke up. That is _not_ _normal_!" Sam's cheeks blazed red.

"Newsflash, Sam—nothing is normal about our lives!" Dean gestured around them with his arms. "In case you missed it, our home is a bunker. And of the nine people who woke up here this morning, two are witches, two are archangels, four have grace, five have killed or been killed by another person present, and six have been resurrected at least once. No one here has any claim on 'normal!'"

Sam's shoulders hunched and let his breath out slowly. "You're right. I'm sorry," he whispered. "Everything's a little disorienting this morning. It's...hard."

Dean nudged him with his toe, but Sam didn't lift his head. "It's cool, man. And if the, umm, 'close sleeping' thing," he refused to say 'snuggle,' "bothered you, then we can wake you up instead. I was just trying to let you get as much sleep as possible—you needed it."

"Hm," Sam grunted, sounding uncomfortable and only half-listening.

"Okay, Sam." Castiel knelt down behind Sam, moving his hands like he was tracing patterns in the air. It took Dean a second to realize he was doing something to Sam's wings...which were apparently spread like a cloak across the kid's shoulders. Sam made a frustrated noise and Castiel huffed a laugh. "Yes, they are as stubborn as you." His hands seemed to gather the wings together and pressed them against the spine. "We can discuss it with Raphael. If there is any truth to Gabriel's stories, then the Healer was Heaven's most stubborn angel. He should know what to do."

Dean watched as the edginess gradually drained away and Sam's shoulders lifted. Hazel eyes, full of unspoken apology, met his own. Dean ruffled Sam's hair in a show of absolution. "We better get up there before Gabe does something stupid, like try to teach the doc how to flirt."

Sam choked on a laugh, his eyes going wide.

Castiel frowned in sudden suspicion. "Do you understand Enochian better than you let on?"

Dean blinked at him. "What?"

"Oh," Castiel blinked back, "I thought...nevermind."

"You thought what?" Dean demanded, but the others started walking away.

"So what's with the name thing?" Sam asked over his shoulder, his mouth twisted in a failed attempt to hide his amusement.

"What name thing? There is no name thing. Did you both get high earlier?" It took less than two steps to catch up. Gone were the days when Dean struggled to keep up with his towering brother. The new snail's pace was turning out to be a harder adjustment.

"Well, now I _know_ there's definitely a name thing," Sam scoffed.

"I thought it was simply Dean's predisposition for giving people nicknames." Castiel's head tilted in consideration.

Dean took it as a sign of his own great self-control that he didn't smack the tilt out of the seraph. "I do not have a pre-whatever for nicknames. It just happens."

"So," Sam said as his grin turned mischievous, "it has nothing to do with the fact that Raphael was your favorite Ninja Turtle?"

"What?!" Dean cursed his voice for cracking in betrayal. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Sure it is. Don't worry, your secret is safe with us. I'm sure Raphael would never pick up on your thoughts and wonder why a giant man-turtle in a red mask is floating around in your brain whenever his name is mentioned."

"Whatever. At least I wasn't a lame geek who loved boring old Donatello." They reached the bunker's entrance and emerged into the brisk morning air. Dawn light filtered through trees and patches of fog. Laughter echoed from the other side of the building and they slowly walked toward the noise. "In fact, Donatello the Ninja Turtle reminds me an awful lot of Raphael the archangel. Hmm...maybe you two were destined to become besties."

Sam didn't respond immediately. As soon as they'd crossed the threshold to the outside world, the kid had started casing the area. His eyes moved constantly, sweeping from the treeline to the road to the sky. Dean moved closer, wedging Sam between himself and Castiel. It worked—Sam took a shuddering breath and was able to keep talking. "I dunno. Maybe."

"Of course, by the same token Gabriel would obviously be Michelangelo," Dean continued, knowing Sam usually jumped at the chance for some nerd-talk.

"Does that mean Michael would correspond to the leader, Leonardo?" Castiel asked with deadpan seriousness.

Dean and Sam stopped walking, turning in sync to stare at their friend. "Metatron gave you Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles references?" Dean almost felt bad for the douchey angel's demise. Almost.

"Yes, although without cultural context the references are practically meaningless. It is confusing." Castiel looked at Dean. "Can turtles even eat pizza?"

"I am so sorry, Cas," Dean said, placing his hand on the angel's shoulder. "We have clearly neglected your education."

As they made their way to the back yard, the smell of food mingled with the fresh forest air. Dean's stomach growled loudly, making him wish he could scoop Sam up and run to the food. But his brother would complain and likely do something painful in retaliation, so he was forced to tolerate the gnawing hunger for several long minutes.

Gabriel sent him a smirk when they drew closer, and Dean had a sneaking suspicion that the archangel had heard their conversation. "Come on, _dudes._ We almost started without you."

Dean groaned while Sam laughed.

The food was spread across a newly-extended picnic table. Several coffee carafes had been placed among the dishes. Steam rolled up from the table carrying enough savory scents to make Dean's mouth water. He made a bee-line for the area that held his recognizable favorites and sat down. Everyone else slowly drifted in to fill the bench seats.

Dean was so distracted by the perfection of the fried potatoes that he almost missed Sam struggling to get on the bench next to him. They were near the end of the table, and it looked like Sam was intending on using him to shield against the crowd. But that was cool—he understood. The only times they ever ate around this many people were when they happened to be in a diner surrounded by strangers. He scooted over a few inches to give Sam more room as Castiel took the end seat across from them.

Without saying a word, Dean poured Sam some coffee. Gabriel passed down a plate full of fresh fruits and eggs. Sam whispered his thanks as everything was placed in front of him, then promptly attacked the food with gusto. Dean tried to answer him, but his mouth was crammed full of hot cinnamon roll goodness.

The meal had barely begun when Dean felt Sam tense. "Sam?" he asked quietly, not wanting to gain everyone's attention.

"What is that?" Sam directed the question at Castiel. He sounded disgusted, and it put Dean on edge.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? A breakfast party in the garden, eh? Shall I assume my invitation was lost in the mail?" The newcomer stood at the head of the table, just inches away from Sam and Castiel. His impeccable black suite was out of place among all the casual clothes and pajamas and rampant bed-head.

The hair went up on the back of Dean's neck as the energy around him spiked. "Oh, Crowley. You _really_ should have called ahead."

* * *

 **(BONUS: ENOCHIAN CONVERSATION BETWEEN GABRIEL AND RAPHAEL)**

" **Are you flirting with the humans, Raphael?"**

" **I do not see how confirming my name constitutes a flirtation."**

" **Careful, brother—they are sensitive and you are using your 'I Bring You Glad Tidings of Great Joy' voice."**

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES** :  
Hey y'all.  
First of all, a huge THANK YOU to everyone for the comments and encouragements and messages. They have been wonderful and kind and kept me writing this past month (several months, now). Life has been pretty crazy the last few weeks in particular and writing was impossible some days.  
My mom's health is really bad right now and she's in a rapid decline. I won't vent too much bc I have a tendency to over-share once I get started...but things may be a little rocky the next few months. Which means I'll either end up writing a million new chapters to escape it all, or I'll stare blankly at my screen for hours each day before giving myself over to Mass Effect Andromeda to escape it all. Let's just say that "it all" includes me, a woman engaged to a woman in the south, working out funeral/will arrangements for my mother, all while surrounded by her Literal Neo-Nazi family. Good times. I hope y'all can handle the angst/fluff levels this entire situation will create for this series...  
Second of all...I don't have a second of all. Except to say thank you again to all my readers. And to my two betas-Nathyfaith and ScrollingKingfisher.  
You are all keeping me vaguely sane and strong. So thanks...


	23. After the Storm pt6

**AFTER THE STORM** **  
PART 6: I Won't Die Alone and Be Left There**

Mary took her seat next to Castiel. It placed her across from her sons—both of whom still looked tired and tense after hours of sleep. To be honest, she felt the same.

The life of a hunter was rarely calm. She understood going days without rest, riding the adrenaline and caffeine-fueled high until the panic passed. And 'crisis-mode' often lasted much longer than the crisis itself. The scenarios changed when she shifted from hunting to motherhood, but the intensity grew when it involved her babies.

Dean's first serious fever as an infant had scared her far worse than any supernatural creature. She remembered how the late night trip to the emergency room left her feeling helpless. There was nothing to do but wait, praying the medication and I.V.'s worked. By dawn, the fever broke and they returned home. But the fear stayed with her for days, and resurged with every new crisis.

Sam had gone missing for twenty-four hours, and another full day had now passed since the grand rescue. But Mary's hands shook as she stirred her coffee, and her heart refused to slow. Knowing what she did about Sam's history, she kept expecting him to break. Of course, she kept expecting herself to break as well—had been waiting for it since the moment Dean told her the year was 2016.

"You doing alright?" Gabriel asked from her left. She hadn't even noticed him sit down.

"Yeah," Mary said, her voice a little too breathy to her own ears. "Just feels a bit surreal, maybe. All of us having a fairy tale breakfast in the forest after...everything."

The archangel nodded and bit into a berry tart. Juice dripped onto his chin, staining the skin purple. Motherly impulse had Mary taking a napkin to his face without thinking. Amber eyes went wide in surprise.

"Oops." Gabriel said around a mouthful of pastry.

"Sorry." She gave him a sheepish smile. "Cleaning up after the boys in my life has become habit over the years."

"I can imagine—Winchesters always make the most impressive messes!" He looked fondly at her boys, as though he felt immense pride at the memory of those messes. Then, his face fell. Gold light glowed from his eyes as they turned sharp and alert.

Mary's heart raced as she heard her youngest ask, "What _is_ that?" in a voice full of revulsion.

A strange man appeared at the end of their table. His clothing spoke of wealth, as did his nonchalant behavior. "Well, well, well, what have we here? A breakfast party in the garden, eh? Shall I assume my invitation was lost in the mail?" His British accent rolled through the tense silence.

The air itself grew charged, and Mary imagined this is what it felt like right before lightning strikes. Gabriel's muscles coiled tight, practically trembling by her side. She felt the energy building where their shoulders touched. Castiel's body braced, but he didn't seem about to launch into battle—more like preparing for an explosion.

Whoever the newcomer was, he clearly presented a threat. Mary's attention went immediately to her boys. Sam sat only inches from the man, but he didn't look scared. Instead, his nose was scrunched up like he smelled something awful. But it was Dean's relaxed, semi-amused response that really gave her pause.

"Oh, Crowley," the hunter said in a tired voice and shaking his head, "You _really_ should have called ahead."

An explosion of wind and earth erupted around the table as three other people came crashing in. Each carried a silver blade in their hands. Mary didn't have time to ask if they were angels or who the man even was—before she could blink, the three had the man on his knees with one on either side and one behind. They held him there and looked to someone behind Mary.

She followed their gaze to find Raphael standing with a silver staff held firmly in his hand. He walked slowly toward the front, his eyes never leaving the man on the ground. The man stared back, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he turned to take in the others at the table.

"Oh, you boys have some explaining to...do..." he trailed off when he got to Sam. "Moose?"

Raphael waved his hand and a wave of energy pushed the man and his three guards away from the table several feet. "You will not address him, _demon,_ " he said in a deceptively calm voice.

The man let out a laugh. "My, how times have changed. When exactly did Heaven's finest start caring about the Winchesters?" He turned to Dean. "And why are you having an outdoor breakfast at dawn with a bunch of angels? Is there another apocalypse? Jesus, boys—learn to space them out a bit! It's been less than a month since the last one!"

The man's lack of intimidation in the face of so many powerful beings confused Mary. As did the angels' aggression and her sons' relaxed response. Wait, what did Dean call him? She'd heard that name from the boys once or twice. "You're Crowley? 'King of Hell' Crowley?" she asked him.

His eyes flashed red. "Been talking about me, have they? Did they leave out the part where I _saved their asses?!_ " His voice rose at the end, changing from playful to indignant. "Someone tell me what the _bloody hell_ is going on!"

Dean sighed heavily and stood up. "Alright, everyone, calm down. As hilarious as it would be to watch you guys smite him, he was an ally against Amara. I'm sure he'll be on his best behavior now that he knows he's got _two archangels_ right here to keep an eye on him. Won't you, Crowley?"

"Two—?" Crowley broke off, cursing in a language Mary didn't recognize. For the first time, she saw a hint of fear on the demon's face. He gave a shaky smile. "Best behavior, absolutely. Does that need to be in writing or can I stop kneeling in the dirt? I should know better than to wear my good suites when I drop by—they always end up ruined."

"Yeah, yeah, poor you," Dean said to Crowley before waving his hands to shoo the three unknown angels away, "Good job, you saved us all. Now, let him go and you get back to your perches. Danger's over. We'll take it from here." He dropped his hands and rested one on the back of Sam's head, pulling him to lean closer.

Mary saw the boy's face and felt her breath catch. His expression was so open and raw as he stared at the angels. All the fear and tension she'd expected him to show toward Crowley was now radiating off the tiny figure. Sam seemed frozen in place, unable to even blink as he waited to see what the angels would do.

The two male angels didn't move, but shifted their gazes to Raphael again for direction. A woman standing behind Crowley addressed the archangel in Enochian. There was a silent pause and Mary felt the entire table hold their breath. Finally, Raphael nodded and replied. Whatever he said had the angels reluctantly releasing the demon. They each glanced at Sam once before disappearing.

Crowley stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. "I swear, you boys..."

Mary didn't see Raphael move, but he was suddenly in front of Crowley with his hand wrapped around the demon's neck. "You will not address them," he repeated in a deep rumble, "You will not touch them. You will state your business _to me_ , and then you will leave. You are not welcome here."

"Whoa there, Doc!" Dean called. "It's cool. He can talk to us. We're all adults here, mostly. We've survived a lot worse than hearing Crowley monologue."

"You're too kind," Crowley choked out around Raphael's tight grip.

Gabriel stood and walked with a swagger around the table to place himself between Sam and the demon. His hands moved to his hips, and there was a cockiness Mary wasn't used to seeing. A sharp, mean edge to his confidence spoke of imminent danger. "Isn't he, though?" Gabriel sneered. "I think preventing us from smiting you just put Deano in the running for sainthood."

"Awesome," Dean muttered, then cleared his throat. "Okay. How about we all sit back down. I know everyone's on edge, and hey, I get it—King of Hell popping by in the middle of breakfast can be cause for concern. But I think we're safe. The guy loves himself way too much to be on a suicide run."

Mary spared a glance at the rest of the table. Jody looked murderous while the twins were both standing with weapons drawn. Sam and Dean were the only ones who remained calm, and relatively relaxed now that the other angels were gone. In fact, Crowley's predicament seemed to amuse them both.

Gabriel snapped his fingers and a small wooden stool appeared behind Crowley. "Sit, demon. And stay upwind. I don't want the smell of sulfur to ruin my breakfast."

Crowley had no choice when Raphael shoved him down onto the seat. Keeping his grip tight around the demon's throat, the archangel leaned in until they were nose-to-nose. No words were exchanged that Mary could hear, but a message was clearly conveyed when Crowley quickly nodded. Raphael gave a frustrated snort and released him. Then, he straightened up and stood to the side, planting his staff in the ground inches away from Crowley's foot.

Rubbing his throat, Crowley said in a hoarse voice, "Lovely friends you have now, boys. I take it this is a recent development."

Gabriel turned to the brothers and gestured for them to scoot down the bench. Dean nudged Jody and she moved over. He stepped her way, pulling Sam with him, and sat down. The twins slowly moved to the empty seats next to Mary, but kept their weapons handy. Finally, Gabriel plopped on the bench beside Sam.

"Gabriel!" Sam complained with a grunt as he was suddenly wedged between the archangel and his brother. "I'm safe enough without you sitting on me! Shove over!"

Mary saw him send a sharp elbow into Gabriel's side, but it had no effect. Not giving up, Sam reached up and yanked on something in the air. The archangel's head whipped around, startling the boy. For a second, there was such an intense look on Gabriel's face that it scared Mary. Dean's arm snaking protectively around his brother's chest did little to calm her.

Then, Gabriel blinked, and the silent fury faded. He released a slow breath and nodded, whispering something unintelligible. Sam replied in Enochian, hesitantly patting the archangel's shoulder. Gabriel smiled and shifted over a few inches.

"I take it _that_ is a recent development as well?" Crowley asked quietly, staring at Sam in amazement. "That _is_ Sam, isn't it?"

"Yes, Crowley, it's me," Sam answered quickly before anyone else had the chance to speak. "It was a parting gift from Chuck for saving the world. Again. Why are you here? Has something happened or are you just bored? Better yet, _how_ are you here?"

"Ah, so child in appearance only. It's good to know your conversion to a member of the Host hasn't diminished your ability for sass," Crowley scoffed as his eyes shifted to the archangels. "And I'm guessing their return is also thanks to Him?"

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, it's been one big family reunion around here. Answer my questions."

Crowley squinted, like the boy was too bright. "Yesterday, there was an explosion of grace massive enough to shake Hell. Even my mother felt it. Figured, if anyone would know what was going on, it would be you three," he explained, including Castiel in the count with nod. "I don't imagine the explosion was linked to your transformation, unless Chuck was a little too rough with His grace-giving. The scream I heard did not sound like God's healing touch."

"No, it wasn't Chuck. He changed me the same day the Dean stopped Amara from destroying the sun." Sam took a deep breath and Mary wished there wasn't a table between them. He kept his gaze on Crowley, but she saw his eyes go unfocused. "There was an...incident...yesterday that forced me into a growth spurt. It involved people from your neck of the woods."

"Demons?" Crowley asked, sounding surprised.

"Brits," Sam corrected with a tight voice.

"Humans!?"

Sam looked down at his plate. "Yup."

"Huh," Crowley huffed as though astounded. "Might I ask—why the angelic reunion? Are we gearing up for a new threat? Or did God just miss His boys?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business," Gabriel cut in.

Crowley laughed. "Gabriel, is it? Well, Messenger, I _am_ the King of Hell. And while that may seem trivial to _some_ around here, it was good enough for Daddy Dearest when He needed my assistance. So settle your feathers before you break something."

Mary almost spat out the coffee she'd been drinking to ease her dry mouth. Was everyone in the future this sarcastic? Crowley lit up at her reaction, then looked closely at her as though he'd caught a glimpse of something. His eyes mapped her face, and she felt like he could see too much.

"'One big family reunion,' hmm?" he said with a little too much understanding.

"Hey!" Gabriel snapped his fingers, drawing the attention back to himself. "Why would we need your assistance?"

Crowley squared his shoulders and picked invisible fuzz off his jacket. "Well, for starters, it may be beneficial to us both if I were to inform my demons to stay clear of you lot. I'm a business man—it's bad business to send soldiers to an empty death. As we currently have a tentative truce, I say we maintain the peace until such time we find ourselves at odds once again. Besides," he looked at each of them in turn, "we still have a common threat, do we not?"

"Lucifer," Dean said gruffly.

"And I called you the dumb one," Crowley drawled while giving him slow claps. "I've been keeping tabs on the devil. _Self-preservation_ and all that."

"Yeah? And what exactly have you learned?" Dean asked. He took a bite of his food, already unimpressed by whatever answer the demon gave.

Crowley scowled at the hunter. "I followed the trail of burnt-out vessels to find who he's currently inhabiting. You'll never guess—"

"Vince Vicente," several voices interrupted in unison.

Crowley jumped, and his frown grew deeper. Obviously, he hadn't planned on them ruining his big reveal. "Yes. Well, I suppose it's easier when you have two archangels on your team."

"Three," Gabriel corrected with a grin.

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. "Three?"

"You forgot Michael," Raphael rumbled coldly from above.

"Michael's back?" Crowley's voice broke on the archangel's name. "And here I thought he'd just been quiet without his brother tormenting him in the Cage."

"Mickey is restoring Heaven as we speak," Gabriel's grin grew to include teeth. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to know Hell's management is a willing ally to our Father."

" _Bloody hell,_ don't say things like that! I have a reputation to maintain!" Crowley said in a furious whisper, eyes searching the treeline for hidden witnesses.

"What reputation?" Castiel spoke up.

Dean snorted in agreement. "Don't worry, Crowley. Your supervillian-image is safe with us."

"I take it you have some sort of plan for dealing with Lucifer, then?" Crowley challenged. "Seeing as you're all having a relaxed picnic, can I assume the threat is gone? Or are we going the usual route of ignoring the problem until it's actually _setting fire to your home?_ "

Mary watched Sam flinch and huddle down, making himself even smaller. Dean's left arm tightened around him at the same time he reached for Sam with his right hand. She was pretty sure he was trying to stop Sam from digging into his palm.

"Watch your tone," Gabriel said in a low, dangerous voice. "No one is ignoring any threat, including Lucifer. Leave him to us."

"Now, answer Samuel's other question," Raphael ordered.

"Which one?" Crowley asked, rubbing his temples.

" _How_ did you get here?" Raphael's voice seemed to roll up through the ground.

"I am a demon..." Crowley started flippantly.

Raphael snarled and swung the blade of his staff around to rest against the demon's neck. It happened faster than Mary's eyes could follow. "Do not play coy. I know the abilities of every rank in Hell. _How_ did you get through our wards?"

Crowley gasped out a breath, but continued talking in his casual manner. "As I was saying, I am a demon who was raised by a powerful witch. A powerful witch who also joined with your Father against the Darkness—and let me tell you, Hell has nothing on the torture of having to listen to those two prattle on about parenthood!"

" _HOW!_ " Raphael roared, out of patience.

" _Magic,_ you _fucking idiot!_ " Crowley bellowed back. "Do you know how many times they've chained me in this pit? I am beyond familiar with their usual wards. And when we all gathered for our end-of-the-world pity party, you might say I 'propped the back door open' so I'd have a way back in. Just in case."

"How?" the Healer's whisper was far more intimidating than his yell.

Crowley shuddered, looking away from them. "Spell bags. Placed in the wall of a room no one ever uses. And a few more in the library." He sighed and waved his hand. Several tiny leather pouches appeared in his palm.

Raphael grabbed them and passed them to Gabriel without taking his eyes off the demon. He then began to forcefully pat down Crowley's suite, checking the pockets for any more hidden objects. Finding nothing, the archangel straightened back up. "If you want to be helpful, then _go._ Only return if you are summoned. The angels will be given orders to smite any demon that shows their face here."

"Again, such lovely friends." Crowley rolled his eyes. "Winchesters, angels, humans—the _displeasure_ has been all mine. Enjoy your breakfast." He disappeared as silently as he'd appeared.

A collective sigh went out around the table. Mary stared at the empty stool, distrusting the relief. A hand landed on her back and she almost fell off the bench.

"Easy there, momma," Max's low voice soothed in her ear as he steadied her. "You okay?"

"Never a dull moment," she whispered back with a slight smile.

"So I'm learning with this crew," Max said, hugging her tightly.

Mary looked across the table at her boys. Dean was murmuring in his brother's ear, too quiet for her to hear. Sam's face stayed blank but his body sagged against Dean's side.

A loud beeping came from the other side of Dean. Jody pulled out her cell phone and read her message. "Well, folks. I hate to eat and run, but it looks like I've got to head out. Got a new case." She scrolled down the screen and frowned. "And, apparently, we're out of milk."

Everyone got up to say their farewells, and the twins announced they were leaving as well. They had another hunt already lined up before being diverted to help the Winchesters. Promises were made to get together in a non-work-related capacity soon.

"Don't forget—you ever need some more female company, just come see me and my girls. We'll watch cheesy rom-com movies and eat ice cream." Jody said, wrapping Mary in a hug.

"Absolutely. Thank you, Jody. For everything." Mary felt the tears burn her eyes and throat as she held tight to the older woman. This other mother who had understood Mary's loss immediately and made her feel not so alone. Who had been there for her boys when Mary was in Heaven, and had more adopted strays waiting for her back home. She missed Jody already.

"Any time, Mary. You all rest up and relax. You're due a break." Jody gave the boys their hugs and the angels a half-threat to keep them all safe.

Max and Alicia crushed Mary between them, promising to swing by the bunker next time they were in the area. "After all, you owe us a look at that library!" Alicia said.

"There's a bed here anytime you guys need it," Dean told them. "I mean it—if you ever find yourself this way and you need something, let us know. Bed, shower, food, and research is all here."

"A hunter's sanctuary," Max mused thoughtfully, "There hasn't been one in this region for several years."

"Not since the Roadhouse," Alicia agreed. "God, I miss that place. Ellen and Jo were amazing."

"You knew Ellen and Jo?" Dean asked, sounding a little breathless. Mary heard the heartbreak in their names. She wondered who they were, and what had happened to them.

"Everyone knew those women," Max answered with reverence.

"We did a hunt with Jo down South." Alicia smiled. "Shew, that girl could fight."

"That girl could drink!" Max added, also smiling. "She knew her liquors and her stories." He winked at Dean. "Heard a few about you two. But we'll have to save those for next time."

Gabriel snapped up to-go containers and sent them with more food than had originally been on the table. Everyone helped to load up their vehicles, and waved good-bye. Mary was sad to see them leave, but their absence brought an instant relief to those left behind. Being social was exhausting.

She studied the others. Gabriel still seemed tense and on high-alert, while Dean looked like he had aged a decade in under an hour. Raphael and Castiel were both drained, but calm. And Sam...her youngest had not spoken since Crowley's departure. She'd seen him nod and wave to the others as they'd left, but his attention was clearly turned inward. He leaned against his brother, listless and tired.

"What is the least stressful thing we can do right now?" she asked the group who all responded with slow blinks. "I'm talking relaxed-to-the-point-of-drooling levels of activity. Any suggestions? Besides wrapping ourselves in blankets and literally drooling?"

Gabriel giggled—a clear sign of his own state of mind. He only ever giggled when a crisis had been narrowly averted. "How about we lounge around watching movies all day?" He looked down at Sam and Mary caught a flash of concern in his eyes. "It'll give us a chance to recheck his wings."

"How's that sound, Sammy?" Dean asked as he combed through his brother's hair with gentle fingers.

Sam didn't say anything, but slowly nodded in response. Mary didn't think he'd even heard the question and was just reacting to the tone of Dean's voice. She caught her eldest's eyes and sent him a skeptical look. She mouthed the words 'Is he okay?' and nodded toward Sam. Dean shrugged.

"Come on, kids," Gabriel said, ushering them inside.

Mary followed behind, so she saw when Sam tripped on his own feet and staggered. Dean scooped him up before anyone else could move. "Watch it, dude," he fussed at the boy. "We're, like, three feet from the stairs. You almost went head-first down them."

Sam huffed and patted his brother's shoulder.

"No, falling head-first down stairs is not 'oh well.' It's more like, 'oh shit!'" Dean shook his head. "You're killing me, Smalls."

Mary didn't get the reference, but Gabriel clearly did as it made him start giggling again. Castiel stepped up alongside her, looking as confused and lost as she felt. "I think there's something wrong with your brother. He appears to be cracking."

Castiel studied the shorter archangel with obvious concern. "Cracking?" he asked in a rough voice.

"I'm kidding, Castiel," Mary quickly reassured, realizing the angel was taking her words literally. "I just meant he's doing that weird stress-laugh-thing. If he was human, I'd say he needs sleep. Not sure what an archangel would need."

"I do not have a 'weird laugh thing,' thank you very much!" Gabriel pouted.

They piled into the main entrance room of the bunker and came to a stop. Mary looked around for a new threat, not knowing why they'd quit moving.

Dean cleared his throat. "Um, so, where are we watching movies, guys? The only TV is in Sam's old room. Should I move it out to the library? It's where we have couches."

"What kind of angel do you take me for?" Gabriel snapped his fingers dramatically. Sam jolted in Dean's arms, but nothing changed around them.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Dean asked, rubbing his brother's back.

Gabriel just smirked and took off down the hallway. They all followed, too tired to demand an answer. He led them past the shared bedroom to a corridor that hadn't existed before. A single door stood at the end of the short passage. He pushed it open and stepped aside.

Mary gasped. A plush couch wrapped most of the way around three of the walls. A mini-island of ottomans sat in the middle, piled high with a stack of blankets. Enormous pillows littered the floor. The fourth wall held a television larger than Mary had ever seen outside a movie theater. In the corner stood an old-fashioned popcorn machine with the glass window. It was already full, and the room smelled like butter.

A long, low bookshelf ran along the wall and several different metal boxes that looked similar to VCRs. They each had a different strange remotes sitting on top. The bottom shelf held what Mary first thought were books, and she wondered why they were all the same exact size. On closer inspection, it seemed they were all movies and...games? She looked at her sons to ask, but stopped herself.

Dean stood in the middle of the room with his mouth open. It was a rare sight—her oldest son, speechless with wonder. It was exactly how she pictured him looking the first time John gave him the keys to the Impala. He was even blinking away tears.

"Does this meet your movie-watching criteria?" Gabriel asked. His voice was soft, but he kept the smirk.

"This is awesome," Dean whispered without moving.

Gabriel chuckled. "Well, get comfy, bud. It's hard to lounge while standing. Check out these couches."

Dean shuffled awkwardly around the obstacles of pillows. Mary was reassured that, if they fell, at least they'd land on something soft. She sank down into the nearest sofa section and groaned at how amazing it felt.

Dean let out an almost identical moan of his own when he fell back into the cushions. He kept a loose hold on Sam, allowing the boy to move away and sit next to him when he grew uncomfortable. "Oh my God, Sammy. This is it—I'm done with hunting. Time to hang it all up because I'm never moving from this spot again."

"That does not seem like good hygiene, Dean," Castiel stated in his matter-of-fact kind of way. Mary snorted and looked over at the seraph. He stood in the doorway, blocking Raphael who was towering behind him.

"You could help with that, Cassie. Sponge ba—" Gabriel's teasing tone was cut off abruptly by a well-aimed pillow smacking him in the face. Mary smothered her laughter into the collar of her over-sized sweater—Dean's face burned red from either outrage or embarrassment as he glared at the archangel. After a beat, he flopped back into the cushions, satisfied with his successful throw.

"Stop mortifying the hunter, Gabriel," Raphael said from the hall. "And move, Castiel! I want to know what is so special about this room and 'movies.'" He drew out the vowels like he wasn't sure how to pronounce it.

"What are we watching?" Mary asked. Some of the film titles had been familiar, but most were complete mysteries.

"What kind of movies do you like?" Gabriel started going through the strange film-cases—they were so much smaller than VHS tapes. "Are you a rom-com kinda girl, like Jody?"

"I don't even know what 'rom-com' means," Mary admitted.

"Romantic Comedy," Gabriel explained.

"Ugh," Mary shivered and made a face. Comedy she could enjoy, but romance? Those stories were never interesting enough to begin with, and John's loss was still too recent for her to watch another couple fall in love. "No, I'm definitely not a 'rom-com' kinda girl."

"Thank God," Dean muttered in relief.

"So, what's your preferred genre? Or better yet, what's your favorite movie?" Gabriel asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

Mary saw Dean sit up at the question, as though eagerly awaiting her answer. Then, she realized he probably _didn't know_ her favorite movie, and she suddenly found herself resisting the urge to rub her eyes. "Umm, well, I didn't get the chance to see a lot of films in the theaters, and we only owned a few on tape. But I loved good action and science fiction—not the cheesy ones your dad loved, but the ones that made you feel like aliens and space travel were real possibilities."

Dean stared openly at her, like he was seeing her for the first time. "Really?" He sounded so much like his younger self. He pushed Sam, toppling the boy over on the cushion with a grunt. "Did you hear that Sammy? Mom's a total nerd," he whispered loudly.

Sam turned bright hazel eyes on her, and she noticed a small smile touch the corner of his mouth. He stayed there, laying curled up on his side. He may not be talking, but he was engaged enough to be paying attention.

Mary returned the smile, encouraged by their eagerness to learn more about her. Not just her as their mother, but her as a person. She leaned forward, searching her memories for film titles. "Oh yeah. I'm sure films have come a long way since the early eighties, but we had a few masterpieces. Don't know if you would have seen them or not. One was actually called 'Alien.' It was terrifying but so good. John couldn't handle that one."

" _Dad_ couldn't handle 'Alien?'" Dean laughed, bewildered by the idea.

"Not after the war," Mary cringed, thinking about it. His violent outbursts had been hard, but the episodes that left him catatonic were always somehow worse. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on those memories when she had two other war-weary soldiers right in front of her. "But there was another one we both enjoyed. It was a trilogy, actually, but I never got to see the third film. It was in theaters right after Sammy was born and it still hadn't come out on tape when I...well, you know."

"No way," Dean said.

"'No way' what?" Mary asked, unsure what she'd said wrong.

"You're talking about 'Star Wars.' And are you telling me you never got to see "Return of the Jedi?'" Dean's face and tone were totally serious.

"Um, yes?" Mary answered. "Do you have it? Did _you_ like it? You were still a baby when the first two came out, so I wasn't sure..."

"Are you kidding me!? Do _I_ like..." he broke off, too flustered to continue. "Gabe, tell me you included them in that library over there. If not, I think Sammy's got the DVDs in his room."

"Of course I have the original 'Star Wars' trilogy—special edition _and_ the original theatrical release which is completely unavailable now. I also have the prequels, the animated series, and the most recent films—'The Force Awakens' and 'Rogue One.' Oh, and all the random appearances like the 'Star Wars Holiday Special' with Bea Arthur." Gabriel moved down the bookshelf and started pulling cases out by the handful.

"They made more after the third movie?" Mary asked, excitement flowing through her with each unknown title he listed. It felt strange to experience a rush that wasn't connected to actual danger. It made her giddy.

"Ha!" Dean barked out a laugh. "They probably made more than they should have. The prequels totally suck, but they're worth a watch. I actually haven't seen the two new ones either. Not a lot of movie-time when the world's ending."

"Well, I think we've got our day blocked out!" Gabriel exclaimed, bringing a pile of cases over to them. "So how do we want to do this? Start with Episode One and play them in chronological order or do we start with the classic trilogy and go in order of release dates?"

"Release dates, definitely. You have to see 'Return of the Jedi' before the prequels." Dean smiled at her and patted the seat next to him in invitation. Mary felt a warmth settle in her chest as she jumped up and joined him.

Gabriel showed her the cases and Mary marveled at how light-weight they all were. She picked up the one that had the familiar movie poster of 'A New Hope' on the front. Opening it up, she was stunned to find a simple silver disk. "How...This is the movie?" she asked, not touching the fragile-looking disk. They hadn't watched much of anything together since her resurrection except a few short videos online—something called 'YouTube.' Apparently, anyone could make a film these days. She remembered what a big deal it was to own a camera that took photos. Now, they were built into people's phones.

"Oh, the joys of modern technology!" Gabriel said, popping the disk out without a care. "These are called DVDs. They usually hold more than just the movie. Most have bonus features like bloopers, behind-the-scene documentaries, commentaries, and trailers."

"Times certainly have changed," she mused as Gabriel took the cases back to the shelf and pressed the disk against the edge of one metal box. The disk automatically got pulled inside...like magic.

Castiel joined them on the couches, sitting in the corner section next to Sam. He surprised her by kicking his shoes off and stretching his legs along the couch. She must have made a noise or strange face, because he gave her a shy smile and said, "When I had almost no power, I spent most of my time here at the bunker watching Netflix in Sam's room. I found I quite enjoyed removing my shoes and laying down during the experience. It was...relaxing."

Mary nodded and took her own shoes off, tossing them toward the door. They bounced and hit Raphael who still stood like a statue against the wall. "Oops!" she winced. "Sorry, Raphael."

He smiled at her and bent down to arrange her shoes together. "It is not a problem. I, too, prefer to be barefoot."

Gabriel glanced at his older brother while juggling several remotes. "Yeah, we're gonna need to get you some clothes and shoes if we ever take you out into the public. Most humans frown on walking barefoot in stores and restaurants."

Raphael frowned at his feet and wriggled his toes deeper into the thick carpet. "I do not think I will like that."

"Too bad, bro," Gabriel said. "If you want to be a cool kid and hang with the humans, then you gotta wear shoes. Or at least appear to be wearing shoes. And probably tone done the gloriously almost-glowing outfit."

Raphael traced the embroidered pattern stitched along the v-neck collar of his dashiki tunic. "What is wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing. But it's usually a good idea to try and blend in with the humans around you, and these humans prefer jeans and flannel." Gabriel's eyes raked over Dean's appearance and he gave an exaggerated shudder. "Of course, there's no accounting for their tastes either."

"Oh, because you're such a style guru," Dean shot back. "I'll remind you that the first time we met, you were wearing a gray jumpsuit onesie thing."

"I was pretending to be a janitor!" Gabriel defended. "What's your excuse? An unchecked obsession with lumberjacks leftover from your youth?"

"They are practical!" Dean insisted with a huff.

"Raphael," Mary whispered and gestured for the Healer to join her. "Come sit down before they start throwing things."

"You have already thrown things at me," he said, surprised by her order, but gracefully obeying anyway. He perched on the edge without sinking into the sofa.

Mary gently put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back until he was sitting like the rest of them. She patted him twice before removing her hand with a smile. "Much better. Most people work their way up to sitting on the edge of their seat during a movie."

Gabriel growled in frustration and tossed the remotes onto the floor. "How can human invention be so brilliant and stupid at the same time? Buttons everywhere, and most have no purpose!" He waved his hand and darkness descended on the room.

Mary heard a snap, and she jumped as the television flared to life. A blast of brass instruments charged from invisible speakers as the theme song began to play. Mary sat back, clutching a pillow to her chest and staring at the incredible images on the screen. It was _better_ than a movie theater!

"Wow," she gasped.

Dean chuckled and gently elbowed her. "Just wait. This is only the menu screen."

Mary grinned foolishly at him, feeling like a kid at an amusement park. Movement caught her eye and she looked past Dean to see Castiel arranging a pillow under Sam's head. The boy's eyes were still open, though heavy with lingering exhaustion.

The seraph whispered something in Enochian, and Sam nodded. Castiel then settled back against the cushions and began running a hand gently over Sam's back. She watched in relief as her youngest relaxed into the touch. And pushed down the pang of sadness that it wasn't her comforting Sam.

"Everyone set?" Gabriel asked, pushing the ottomans one by one under Raphael, Mary, and Dean's feet. Satisfied that everyone was comfortable, he flopped in the floor near Sam. "Good. Let's do this." And with a final snap, the menu was replaced by the slow-crawl of words across the screen.

Mary hugged the pillow tighter and leaned against her oldest boy's shoulder, quickly losing herself in her favorite story.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
** I've been on a super writing spree for a few days. When I was several pages past the end of Mary's POV and into Castiel's POV, I realized...if I covered everything I planned to in this scene and kept it in this chapter, then I would end up with a monsterously unmanageable chapter.

So, I decided to go ahead and post this, and count myself as ahead on the NEXT chapter! WootWoot!

I was incredibly touched by everyone's kind words of encouragement, support, and love. Thank you...all of you!  
And special thanks again to nathyfaith and scrollingkingfisher for taking the time to beta this!  
Love and blessings!


	24. After the Storm pt7

**AFTER THE STORM  
PART 7: Death Is Just So Full and Man So Small.**

Castiel only half-listened to the movie. Metatron may have given him "Star Wars" as part of the pop-culture download, but this was his first time actually watching them. His attention, however, stayed on Sam. An internal storm had been steadily brewing in the fledgling since Crowley's departure.

The King of Hell's accusation that they were ignoring the threat of Lucifer had stirred up a hornets' nest of emotions in his friend. Guilt and helplessness from the demon's words continued resonating off the young grace throughout the film. Occasionally, the fragile wings twitched against his palm and Castiel would soothe them as best he could.

Lucifer's face from the previous morning, taken from an aging rockstar, kept flashing in Castiel's mind. As Sam unconsciously projected his memories and fears, Castiel pushed back with warmth and feelings of safety. And tried not to allow his own guilt over Lucifer's current presence on Earth to carry over.

It had not yet been discussed—Castiel's decision to say "yes" to Lucifer, nor the actions committed while the archangel had been in control. He was unsure if Sam had already forgiven him, or if the crime was being over-looked in favor of dealing with everything else. Neither option sat well with the seraph.

When the film ended, Gabriel got up to change it out for the next in line. Raphael asked Mary questions about the Force while Dean stood and stretched. Sam stayed put, silently observing everyone, so Castiel remained with him.

"Anybody want anything?" Dean asked.

"Coffee, please. And are there anymore cinnamon rolls left?" Mary turned pleading eyes on Gabriel, who nodded with a smile.

"Of course! I brought all the good stuff. You know, for second breakfast." The archangel reached down and lifted his picnic basket off the floor by the end of the couch. Castiel didn't remember it being there when he'd entered the room.

"You're a God-send, Gabriel." Mary planted a kiss on his cheek and started pulling out dishes. Dean made a gagging noise and walked out.

"Sure, give Dad all the credit," Gabriel pouted before glancing in Castiel's direction. "How about the couch potatoes? Anything I can tempt you with from my magic basket?" Castiel heard his brother's unvoiced concern. _You think we can get him to eat a bit more? He barely had anything this morning._

Sam shrugged, then shook his head.

"How about something warm? Hot chocolate or tea?" Castiel prodded. Sam shrugged again, but didn't say no.

"Hot chocolate sounds perfect, Cassie. I'm gonna make some for all of us," Gabriel said and bounded into the hallway bellowing, "Deano, hold off on those coffees!"

Sam gave the exiting archangel an exasperated sigh before turning a questioning look on Castiel, as though asking 'what's up with him?'

"He is worried," Castiel explained simply.

It was true—Gabriel's flock had been threatened and harmed several times in just a few days. He would likely swing between hyper-protective and aggressively nurturing for a long while. There had been a time when Heaven's leaders were expected to fuss over their underlings. Then the ranks decided that caring equaled coddling, and flocks faded into rarity.

Sam's face fell as he nodded, slow and serious, and sat up. His ever-present anxiety spiked even higher, although he hid it well on the outside. Pushing his hair back, the boy squared his shoulders and blew out a breath—a series of gestures Castiel had seen countless times performed in an adult body. This was Sam bracing himself for a potentially devastating discussion.

Castiel frowned, wondering how Sam had interpreted his words. Winchesters never readily agreed to someone worrying about them. He thought about how he could clarify his statement when Raphael spoke up.

"Samuel," the Healer said in a solemn tone. Sam immediately turned, his spine snapping to attention. "Do you suppose the Force works similarly to grace?"

The question was met with silence until Mary sat on the ottoman across from Sam. She put her plate down between them—several cinnamon rolls sat next to a huge pile of Gabriel's special fruit salad. "It's not a trick question, Sammy," she said, tearing apart a roll and handing part of it to her youngest. He automatically reached for it, but just held it like he didn't know what to do with the sticky bread. "Careful, the icing's starting to drip."

Sam almost panicked, drawing his hand closer to keep it from getting on the couch. Just as the glob started sliding off the top, he shoved it into his mouth for lack of any other option. The sweetness made him scrunch his face, but he chewed and swallowed. His gaze cut back to Raphael. "What?"

The archangel tilted his head. "Is the Force to a Jedi what grace is to angels? Does it work the same?"

Sam gave a half shake of his head before swinging around to Castiel. "What?" he repeated, part-outraged and part-incredulous.

Castiel recognized the Healer's attempt at focusing Sam's mind away from whatever was keeping the fledgling on high-alert. Asking him about a familiar and favorite topic was smart. Playing along, Castiel snagged a strawberry and shrugged. "I do not know enough about these films to answer. I may know the dialogue, but I do not understand human nuance."

"Is it explained later in the series?" Raphael showed enough genuine curiosity that Sam felt compelled to answer.

"It...umm," Sam nibbled on the roll absently as he finally considered the question. "I guess there are some similarities, but they aren't the same. The Force is a mystical energy that the Jedi and Sith can tap into. People who are born sensitive to the Force can manipulate it for their abilities."

"So, they do not contain the Force within them." Raphael stated with a nod.

"Not in the same way that angels have grace. I...I don't really understand grace that much yet. But angels are made of grace, right? It's like their blood and energy and consciousness all in one. But the Force is more of a universal energy that connects everything..." Sam explained, going into details contained in something called an "extended universe."

Castiel didn't understand most of what Sam said, but relaxed as the boy's silence was finally broken. They each asked questions to keep him rambling. And while he remained disconnected, he was no longer completely despondent.

Dean and Gabriel returned carrying trays of extravagantly created drinks. There were piles of whipped cream topped with some kind of colorful sugar that sparkled, and peppermint sticks standing tall in each glass. Both men's eyes warmed at the sight of Sam sitting up and talking.

"Ugh," Dean interrupted with a groan, "I hope you guys realize that you've opened yourselves up to days of lectures on the various eras of Sith philosophies and the subtle differences between all twenty-nine combat styles."

"There's only seven, Dean," Sam corrected in a tone that suggested this was a common argument.

"Whatever, nerd," Dean handed Mary and Raphael a drink before climbing over the ottomans to reclaim his seat. The Healer stared at it without drinking. "You gonna show them your YouTube playlist of _Star Wars_ theories?"

"No. You gonna show them _your_ playlists?" Sam challenged.

Castiel almost laughed at the deep blush that burned the hunter's neck and face.

"No! Truce." Dean quickly answered, dragging a grin from his brother. "Aaaand I think it's time for the next one. Gabriel, a galaxy far far away is calling our name, let's go!"

"Will you show me your playlist?" Gabriel wagged his eyebrows as Dean choked on his drink. Chuckling, he gave the remaining cocoas to Sam and Castiel. "Here you go, kiddos. Drink up. Cas, hold mine too for a second. Don't drink it." He moved to Castiel's feet, lifting them up and sitting down with them on his lap.

"Gabriel, what..." Castiel tensed at the unexpected closeness. He'd never put his feet on someone's lap before—it seemed intrusive. And made him feel suddenly vulnerable.

"Hush, Cassie. I promise not to tickle you."

"Unless he changes his mind. Or gets bored. Or thinks it might be hilarious." Dean said with a smirk.

"Okay, yes. Unless those things happen, I promise not to tickle. Now give me my drink, little bro. I'm a lot less likely to do anything if I'm occupied with chocolate." Gabriel reached dramatically with his shorter arms and Castiel handed him the mug that said 'Tricks are for Tricksters.' He snapped the lights off and the movie started.

Mary scrambled to her seat and settled between Raphael and Dean, leaving the plate of food behind. "You're supposed to drink it," she whispered to the Healer.

"How do I get to the drink? It is covered in foam and gritty sugar," he confessed.

She laughed lightly. "It'll dissolve on your tongue. Just try it."

Castiel vowed to never forget the sight of Raphael with a whipped cream mustache. With a smile, the seraph settled in with his own drink. He quickly got lost in the sweeping shots of the ice-planet Hoth, marveling at human creativity.

It wasn't until Luke fled Dagobah to chase the vision sent by Darth Vader that Castiel noticed Sam was shivering. The boy held his cold mug in a death grip as he stared unseeing at the screen. A brush of his grace told Castiel all he needed to know—Lucifer lingered in his thoughts. He suspected that Sam's own experiences of being misguided and manipulated were adding to the memories.

 _Gabriel._ Castiel nudged the archangel with his toes as he gently removed the mug from Sam's hands. Gabriel banished it with a wave so Castiel could coax the boy into laying down again. He considered stopping the movie, but decided against it.

This was going to happen regularly until Sam's brain processed all his unsorted memories. Before the kidnapping, most of it seemed to happen during sleep. But there were enough instances of Sam having flashbacks during the day.

It was always a toss-up as to whether the boy would come out of it with a brief head shake or with his grace surging everywhere. The one thing that remained a constant was Sam's embarrassment. If they kept their reactions calm and contained, then maybe Sam wouldn't feel like these episodes were so imposing.

Gabriel passed him a blanket, and Castiel draped it over Sam. Tiny shivers had worked their way up the boy's arms, and he wanted to ward off both the chill and insecurity that always came with memories of the Morningstar. He could just smite Crowley for his callousness.

Dean saw what they were doing and helped. Without a word, he pulled off Sam's shoes and tucked the blanket around his brother's feet. Sam pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and wormed his toes under Dean's thighs. The hunter smiled fondly and rested his arm over the covered legs, adding a layer of weight and security to the warmth.

 _How is he doing?_ Raphael's true-voice rumbled under the sound of the film.

 _He is troubled,_ Castiel answered honestly.

 _What's bothering him the most—the demon, the angels, the kidnapping?_ Gabriel asked, joining them in their silent conversation.

Castiel had almost forgotten Sam's reaction to the guards' arrival. It certainly hadn't been positive. There had been both fear and anxiety, but he didn't know the exact roots of either emotion. He did, however, recognize what had truly upset Sam. _There is a combination of factors. But overall, I believe it was what Crowley said...about us not taking the threat of Lucifer seriously._

 _Let me guess—Sam feels like it's his duty to help lead the charge against his worst enemy._ Gabriel gave a weary mental sigh.

 _His duty? But he's too young and untrained. He cannot think others expect this of him!_ Raphael exclaimed, the idea unbelievable. _Does he understand that the very armies of Heaven would fight to see him safe?_

Castiel glanced at his brother and saw the familiar frustration often inspired by the Winchesters. It came from their ingrained belief that the world was their personal responsibility regardless of how many times older, more powerful beings told them otherwise. Of course, some of those beings had only recently joined their cause. Before their return, the world had endured by the brothers' actions alone because no one else cared enough to do it for them.

 _To be fair, the only times Heaven has aided the Winchesters is when it ensured the Hosts' survival. Almost everyone who has stood beside them in loyalty or love has died. Besides, every time Sam tried to stop hunting in the past, it ended in disaster. And he has always taken the blame. I do not think anyone has ever encouraged him to give it up. He knows no other life._ Castiel said carefully.

There was a pause as the archangels sat in silent contemplation.

 _So, he was upset by the demon's words, but not the demon itself?_ Raphael asked slowly, grace still rolling with disbelief.

Castiel almost snorted. _It has been a while since Crowley last posed a serious threat to us. He is an annoyance more than anything._

 _Regardless of whatever alliance you have been forced into, a demon should always be treated with caution. The King of Hell even more so!_ Raphael lectured.

Reasons why Crowley was the least intimidating 'villain' in their lives ran through Castiel's mind, but he didn't get the chance to explain any of them. A tendril of grace smacked him in the back of the head, making him startle and turn to find Gabriel giving him a stern look.

 _Seriously! What happened out there, Cassie?_

 _What do you mean?_ Castiel felt adrift in the sudden shift of mood. He double checked Sam, making sure he wasn't being affected by their discussion. The boy seemed engrossed in the film now that the shivers had died down.

 _He means that when the King of Hell appears within arm's reach of a fledgling, it's grounds for all-out war._ Raphael answered instead, his critical gaze making Castiel want to squirm.

Gabriel's hands squeezed his ankles like he was trying to be reassuring. _We get that you've had to team up recently, but..._

 _I would think you, of all people, would understand that things are not always so black and white,_ Castiel interrupted, staring straight into his brother's golden eyes. _Less than a month ago, this bunker held the Winchester brothers, the King of Hell and his immortal witch mother, myself with Lucifer in possession of my vessel, and our Father. And when everyone, including God, had given in to despair, Sam was the one breaking up the pity party!_

 _Cassie..._ Gabriel started, his disapproval melting into to concern.

 _No!_ Castiel cut him off. _Why does Sam feel it is his duty? Because while Dean convinced Amara to give her brother a second chance, Sam convinced God to give His creation another chance. Samuel Winchester gave hope to the Father and made Him care again. And, yes, we have all either teamed up with undesirable allies or turned ourselves into something unrecognizable—all to save this ungrateful world!_

 _We know,_ Raphael said softly, without judgment.

 _Yes, you do._ Castiel's aggression deflated. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the sofa. He had worked with Crowley then, too—and it ended in disaster. He could still feel the Leviathans squirming against his true-self if he thought about it. The image of Raphael's death was forever seared in his mind. And what had he achieved? Could anyone say that the Leviathans were the lesser evil compared to a civil war in Heaven?

It seemed like any good he'd done over the years was overshadowed by even greater mistakes—world ending, wall breaking, life destroying mistakes. He looked down at Sam and brushed through the mess of curls with unsteady fingers. What qualified him to be a caretaker to Heaven's newest child?

Sam shifted, turning his head enough to gaze worriedly up at Castiel. Whatever he saw made the boy's anxiety spike higher and he reached a hand out to Castiel's knee. Trust and acceptance flowed freely over their bond, and Castiel felt unworthy.

 _Cas?_ A small voice whispered in Castiel's mind, almost like a prayer. But prayers registered in a distinct way to angels, and this was different. Almost like...

Castiel's eyes went wide as he sucked in a breath. He glanced at Gabriel and Raphael, but neither looked like they'd heard Sam. They were, however, paying attention to the change in Castiel.

 _Cassie? What's wrong?_ Gabriel asked, sitting forward as though preparing to spring into action.

 _Nothing, I..._ Castiel gave Sam a soft smile and covered the tiny hand on his knee with his own, trying to convey that everything was alright. He continued speaking only to the archangels. _Sam just said my name—_ _ **he spoke it to me**_ _._

 _He what?!_ Gabriel gripped tight onto Castiel's pant-leg, his eyes glowing with excitement and pride. An angel's first communication to the Host was the equivalent to a human child's first words. In fact, a fledgling had never spoken verbally before—it required physical form and none so young had ever taken a vessel.

Raphael leaned forward from his corner of the couch. _He did that yesterday, too. I heard him call to you both when he awoke from the grace-explosion. The entire Host heard him._

" _What_ is going on?" Dean's voice made them all jump.

"Nothing," Castiel and the archangels answered in unison.

"Yeah, that's not suspicious at all." Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Just angel-bro business, Deano. No crisis," Gabriel reassured with a little too much enthusiasm.

Dean shook his head, unconvinced. "Is that why your clutching Cas' pants like a security blanket, short-stuff?"

"You're sitting _on_ your baby bro's feet. Who are you to judge?" Gabriel asked defensively.

"So weird," Dean mumbled. He turned to his brother, pulling the blanket away from the boy's face enough to see him. "You doing okay, dude?"

Sam nodded silently. Dean didn't look convinced, but he let it drop. He tucked the blanket back around Sam's shoulders, and returned to the movie, occasionally shooting wary glances at all of them.

 _Cas?_ Sam's voice sounded in Castiel's head again, stronger and more worried.

Castiel resumed playing with Sam's hair. Gabriel had told him of Sam's pained reaction to angel-radio on the archangel's first morning with them in the bunker. They'd agreed to not try it again until Sam was stronger. But if Sam was capable of reaching out, then perhaps developing wings now allowed him greater access to his abilities.

 _Yes, Sam?_ he replied as carefully as possible.

Sam's wings flared in surprise. _I can hear you!_

 _And I hear you. Am I too loud?_ Castiel swept the boy with his grace, but found no pain—only a tickling energy that pressed back excitedly.

 _No. It sounds like I'm hearing you through headphones, but it's fine._ He gave a small smile. _No wonder you guys always zone out when you hear someone talks this way. You can't hear anything else!_

 _It becomes easier with practice. But, you are correct—when an angel is speaking directly to you, it can be difficult to split your attention._ Castiel noticed Gabriel staring at him expectantly, impatient for an update.

 _Can everyone hear me?_ Sam asked, frowning.

 _No. Do you know how you are directing your words to me right now?_ Castiel couldn't help but trace the boy's furrowed brow, wishing to smooth it away.

 _I was just trying to pray to you...to get your attention._ Sam's gaze traveled over Castiel's face. _Something's wrong._ _What is it?_

 _Nothing is wrong..._ Castiel started reassuring, but Sam cut him off.

 _Yes, there is!_ Fear edged into the concern that poured off the fledgling, and Castiel felt Gabriel start to try and get up.

 _Wait, Gabriel,_ Castiel said privately, stopping the archangel without taking his eyes off his charge. _Sam, there is nothing wrong. I was simply discussing the events of breakfast with Gabriel and Raphael._

 _Uh huh. And, what, the lack of pancakes made you spiral into a dark abyss of guilt?_ Sam's voice was far too cynical when matched with such a youthful face.

Castiel decided to take the boy's statement as an opening. _My brothers are concerned by our reactions to Crowley._

 _Why? Because we didn't let them smite him?_ Sam's aggression made way for confusion. _I mean, sure, who doesn't want to shoot the asshole? But if we shoot everyone we've ever considered an enemy, then we'd have nobody. Not saying that Crowley_ isn't _an enemy, but he's not—_ Sam suddenly looked away, his expression hidden behind a mask of stoicism.

 _Not Lucifer?_ Castiel finished for him. A shudder went through the new wings as they flattened protectively against Sam's back. Small, sharp fingers dug into the fabric covering Castiel's knee.

 _Yeah. Him._ Sam took a shaky breath. _What are we gonna do, Cas?_

Castiel pushed the hair out of Sam's face and tilted the boy's head up until they were looking at each other again. _What would you_ like _to do?_

 _That's...that has nothing..._ Sam floundered for words. _I didn't mean, 'what movie are we gonna watch next?' I meant, 'what is our plan for stopping the devil?' We can't leave the fate of the world in Crowley's grubby hands!_

Castiel's grace tightened in his chest with the insight on why his brothers had been so upset. He could picture Sam pouring over ancient tomes, researching possibilities with the same fervor he'd displayed in the past. The boy bordered on obsessive when lives were on the line, even during simple hunts. He'd memorized spells, exorcisms, sigils, and languages—never knowing what they'd need to be prepared.

But everything was different now.

The thought of Sam teaching himself how to fight or wield weapons with the intent to do battle was nauseating. His physical body was small and untested. Castiel focused his sight past the soft skin and fragile bone to see the grace-form inside. It was less trained than the boy's arms and legs. And his wings only had the form and protection given to them by Raphael. He looked impossibly young.

 _Cas? Cas!?_ Sam's voice broke through his thoughts with the volume of an angel's unfiltered true-voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel wince.

 _Damn, that kid's got a set of metaphoric lungs on him!_ Gabriel whispered to the seraph.

Castiel shook his head to clear it, and sighed. _I am sorry, Sam. I was lost in thought for a moment._

 _Like an idea on what to do?_ Sam sounded so painfully hopeful.

Gabriel gave a tiny nod, indicating that he was still hearing the boy. No wonder—panic had Sam loudly projecting. Castiel sealed the room with his grace, protecting their privacy from outsiders.

 _Actually, yes. I did have an idea,_ Castiel opened his end of the conversation to both of his brothers. It would take all of them working together to carry out his plan. He slowly ran his palm over the flattened wings, anticipating Sam's displeasure. _I believe we should let the archangels deal with their brother. And you can focus on relaxing and learning and getting to know your mother._

Sure enough, Sam's wings puffed out in anger. _That's your plan? Trust Heaven to take care of everything? How is that_ not _going to lead directly to a second biblical apocalypse? And we just, what, take a vacation?_

 _Then what would you like to do?_ Castiel asked again, matching Sam's ire with calm patience.

 _Anything would be better than that!_ Sam answered, scowling. _I can't do nothing while he's out there!_

 _Samuel, he is not your responsibility. He is not Dean or Mary's responsibility. If anything, he is mine, but I have been charged with a much more important task._

A flutter of panic jolted through the boy. _Are you...are you being called back to Heaven?_

 _What?_ _No!_ Castiel's eyebrows arched high in surprise, and rushed to reassure the bright swirl of grace and soul churning with distress. _Even if Michael were to order my return, I would not comply. And Gabriel would never allow it either. No—there is no acceptable scenario that ends with my leaving._

 _But you said..._ Sam's breath hitched and his words stalled for a second. _What could possibly be more important than Lucifer walking free on the Earth?_

Castiel leaned closer, never breaking eye contact. _You._

Sam blinked. _Me? No, Cas, I'm definitely not more imp—_

 _Yes, Samuel Winchester. You are far more important than Lucifer._

 _How can—_

 _To. Me._ Castiel spoke with stern authority, pausing between drawn out words to make sure Sam understood. _You are more important to me._

The boy went completely still—even his grace froze. There was no flood of thoughts or emotions at the angel's declaration. Only silence echoed back over their mental link.

 _Whoa, dude. I think you broke the fledgling._ Gabriel's voice was quiet in Castiel's mind. He looked quickly at the archangel, worried he'd done something wrong, but Gabriel continued before he could speak. _Give him some time to work through the idea that someone besides his brother thinks he's worth protecting. And not in a 'we need you to survive for our plans' kind of way._

Castiel nodded. He smoothed his hand over the small back and began tracing words in Enochian. The boy's grace already had areas twisted out of place since being worked on only hours ago, and he decided to let the surer hands of the archangels fix it later. Right now, he just wanted Sam to relax and feel safe.

* * *

Sam closed his eyes and let the well-known sounds of the movie wash over him. He could recite every word, and most lines were wrapped in numerous memories of banter with friends. Some were used more often than others.

" _I love you._ "

" _I know._ "

Action music and the clash of ongoing space battles blended together. Sam existed inside a bubble of pure sounds, his thoughts taking the form of notes and blasters and the crackle of lightsabers. It was easier—familiar and peaceful and safe.

" _I am your father._ "

A gasp not coming from the film broke the pattern of expected sounds. Sam's eyes snapped open and the world dropped back into place around him. It took a second to for his brain to reform the world around him, but gradually the lights took shape and became people. People with faces and names he recognized.

"What!?" The shocked voice belonged to Raphael. He was standing, wings touching the ceiling in a display of surprise. Sam wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did.

"Sit down, old man, before you hurt yourself." Gabriel teased, throwing a pillow at the other archangel. It bounced off his chest and fell unnoticed to the ground.

"Man, maybe you guys should do movie nights with the angels upstairs," Dean laughed. "It might help some of them lighten up a bit. Get that stick out of their collective holy asses."

"Excellent plan. Discuss later. Shh!" Gabriel waved his hand and Raphael was knocked back into the couch. "Now stay there and watch till the end."

Everyone's laughter was muffled to Sam, like he was listening through water. He kept his eyes on Gabriel—the archangel made a show of being engrossed in the movie, but kept sneaking glances at Raphael to see his reactions. There was no hiding the adoration there, nor the amazement of someone getting a second chance.

Gabriel's eyes darted to Sam, and there was no time to look away. Sam hunched down in his blanket when a series of expressions crossed the archangel's face too fast for him to interpret. It settled on a soft smile tinged with worry. He tilted his head as though to ask, "are you okay?"

Sam gave a slight nod and burrowed down further until his face was covered with cloth. A hand rubbed his shoulder, but there were no words spoken aloud or over angel-radio. Since Sam's change, Castiel had taken to using physical contact to convey even more than his words.

Words like, " _You are more important to me._ "

Sam's mind jolted, trying to scramble away from its own line of thought. But all he could hear now was Castiel saying words that made no sense. Why would he say that? None of them were _more_ important than the lives they saved.

Besides, Dean had told him of his conversation with Chuck—God Himself had entrusted the care of His world to the Winchesters. Of course, seconds later God had changed Sam into the least capable "world protector" possible. It was like the worst test imaginable.

The urge to move hit him and Sam managed to hold off until he heard the credits start. He pushed the blanket away and sat up as he tried to tug his feet free from Dean's weight. Nothing happened.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Dean's grin grated on his nerves, but then the hunter shifted. Sam's feet were pinched under the increased weight, and no amount of effort could move them. A few others laughed at their antics as they got up to stretch.

"Move, Dean," Sam managed to say through gritted teeth. He needed to get up. He needed to go to the bathroom. He needed five minutes alone. And he needed all of that _now!_

Green eyes sharpened at Sam's tone and studied him critically. The pressure on his feet disappeared, as did the blanket wrapped under his toes. "Good to go, Sammy," Dean assured him. "Do you need your shoes?"

Sam pushed off the couch and landed on the carpet. His legs felt hollow. "Yeah," he grunted and took the offered items. Without looking at anyone else, Sam made his way through the quiet room and slipped into the hallway.

It was a struggle to not take off running through the bunker, just to know he could. But running would have to wait until he had shoes on and he wasn't sliding around in socks. And he wasn't stopping to put on shoes until he was safely in the privacy of a bathroom. People didn't follow him there.

He went to the one with the bathtub—the others rarely used it and it had a lock. It clicked into place and Sam leaned his forehead against the cool door. Those five minutes started now.

All the bathrooms now contained a small stool—a humiliating, but necessary, requirement that kept Sam independent. It took less than a minute to finish his business and push the stool over to reach the sink. He washed his hands in hot water that turned his skin red, and finally looked up at his reflection.

It still startled him—a split second of panic when he didn't recognize the face staring back at him. Angles and strength had been replaced with delicate, round softness. The hazel of his eyes contained brighter greens and deeper blues.

Something moved behind him and he almost fell into the mirror. A few frantic heartbeats passed and Sam realized it was his wings. He'd forgotten about them for over an hour.

Figuring he had at least two more minutes of alone-time, Sam climbed up onto the sink and turned to see his back. They looked nothing like the intricately patterned and brilliantly colored wings he'd seen on archangels or seraphs. These were... _ugly—_ cartoonish, texture-less, and useless. A general lump of vaguely violet light.

Gabriel had once explained how their wing's form was built through training and use. That feathers were just grace funneled into pathways. Sam wished he'd asked more questions.

He reached over his shoulder until his fingers brushed against the barrier that coated the wings. It felt like the static left behind on an old-fashioned television when it was first turned off. The kind he'd grown up with in motel rooms and Bobby' house.

Holding it firmly, Sam stretched it around his side so he could see it without the mirror. It felt like a gel pack that had no temperature—not warm, not cold, and no degree in between. Just static and squishy and purpley-white.

"Awesome," Sam whispered sarcastically under his breath. He might feel differently about them later—after he'd learned to use them and they'd grown into something remotely similar to any other angel. But until then, these bastards had brought him agony for hours before busting free along his spine. And they were tattle-tales, revealing Sam's inner thoughts and emotions to anyone who could see.

Releasing the weird new appendage, Sam sat straight up so he was sideways to the mirror. Hopefully, he'd be able to hide them away like the others. But maybe he could try to control them a little on his own.

Glaring, Sam tried to make the ugly things fold against his back. Nothing.

 _Move_ , he thought. Not even a twitch.

Sam tried to make them span out instead, but it was useless. He sighed and tugged on the part that drooped down to his lower back. "You guys suck."

The wings flared outward as though annoyed with his analysis and knocked Sam off the sink. He twisted impossibly in midair and landed heavily on his knees and palms. Sam sent a silent _thank you_ to Chuck that he hadn't busted his face on the cement. The last thing he needed to do was explain that he'd fallen off the sink to the rabidly protective angels and humans.

Wincing, he shifted so he could sit on his butt. He hissed as sharp tiny pains erupted from the places he'd landed. Lifting his palms into the light, Sam gasped to see his skin covered in scrapes. His knees were in the same condition—pants shredded, skin bleeding. It looked like he'd fallen in a parking lot after running and tripping.

 _Shit!_ Sam mentally screamed at himself. There was no time to change pants, and no way to hide his hands. How had he even done so much damage in so little a fall?

Footsteps thundered through the hall, and the door handle jiggled. Sam held his breath. Then, someone knocked at the door. _Guess my five minutes are up._

* * *

As soon as Sam left the room, Dean turned on Castiel. "What the hell was that about?" he demanded in a low voice so little brothers couldn't hear. "Don't think for a second that I didn't notice all the weird looks and nods you kept giving each other the whole time."

"Dean..." Castiel started.

"We're supposed to be relaxing, so why is Sam wound tight enough to snap?" Dean pushed, knowing the angel was about to try and placate him with some bullshit. But he knew his brother, and Dean didn't have time to work his way through some cryptically vague answer. He'd marked the time, and they had five minutes to explain so he could go check on the kid.

"He's frustrated," Gabriel answered instead. Dean waved for him to elaborate, and the archangel seemed to understand his urgency. "It's Lucifer—Sam thinks it's his responsibility to make sure the world is safe from my brother."

Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What else?"

"What do you mean?" Gabriel asked.

Dean pushed the ottoman away with his feet and stood up. His watch said he had three minutes left. "I mean he wouldn't look at anyone when he ran from the room. He's not rushing off because he's determined to do research. _That_ was not about Lucifer."

"I said something to him," Castiel said quietly.

When Dean turned to the angel, he was surprised to find blue eyes staring steadily up at him. "What? And when? When did you talk about _any_ of this?"

"During the movie."

Dean felt a muscle twitch in his cheek in the following seconds of silence. "You weren't whispering." It wasn't a question.

"No," Castiel admitted, never looking away. "He used angel-radio to ask me something and we ended up having a conversation."

"So Sam is...right, okay," Dean nodded quickly to himself. Sam was able to use telepathy now with the other angels—wasn't that perfect. He squashed down the spike of jealousy over someone else being able to silently communicate with his brother. _Not the time or place._ "What did you say, Cas?"

"I told him he was more important to me than Lucifer."

Dean felt time slow down as he processed the full meaning of the statement. Oh... _Oh!_ "Shit, Cas. What happened to keeping things light and easy?" he exhaled and checked his watch. One minute.

"Sammy's upset because you told him he's more important than the devil?" Mary asked hesitantly. Dean hated hearing the pain in her voice.

"Mom," his mind raced for the right way to explain, "Sam sacrificed himself to centuries of torture at the hands of two archangels. When we got him out, he saw Lucifer everywhere. And after everything, when the world was ending _again_ , he went back to the Cage. He thought God was sending him visions telling Sam to get Lucifer's help."

"And?" Her voice broke.

"And it was a trap. Lucifer sent the visions to lure him there." Dean said. Thirty seconds. Plus, he still had to find Sam.

"Like when Vader sent Luke the false vision to lure him to Cloud City," Raphael commented in deep thought.

Dean stared at the archangel, wondering what happened to the guy he'd first trapped in holy fire all those years ago with Castiel. "Yeah, pretty much," he agreed, out of time. "Alright, let's take a little break. I'm gonna find Sam and make sure he's okay. You guys just...hang out here, okay? I may need some time."

"Well, it's eleven o'clock now. I could start working on lunch," Gabriel suggested.

Dean grimaced—he was still stuffed, but if the guy wanted to cook then who was Dean to say no? Besides, he needed to find Sam. It didn't matter what everyone else did as long as it involved staying away. "Good plan, Gabe." He flashed a thumbs-up to the archangel and bent to give Mary a kiss on the cheek before taking off in search of his brother.

He checked Sam's personal bedroom first, unsurprised to find it empty. Stepping silently through the hallway, he listened for any hint of the kid's location. The closest bathroom was empty. So was the next one. He was contemplating the chances that Sam may have actually gone outside when he heard it—a crash that sent him sprinting.

The door was closed and Dean automatically tried the handle. Finding it locked made him pause and take a breath. If Sam locked the door, it meant he wanted privacy. But Dean couldn't ignore the crash noise. So, he knocked gently on the door.

"Sammy? You okay, man?" he called. He gave Sam five seconds to respond before he'd pick the lock.

Leaning his head against the door, Dean heard shuffling sounds on the other side. When the lock clicked, he stepped back but the door didn't open. "Sammy? I'm coming in."

"Okay," came the muffled response.

Dean opened the door and carefully looked inside. His eyes went immediately to the small figure standing in the middle of the room. The image made him want to laugh, cry, and scream all at the same time.

Somehow, Sam had managed to injure himself in under ten minutes. The knees of his pants were torn and damp with blood. It took another second for Dean to realize the kid was cradling his hands to his chest.

"Man, what happened?" Dean asked, shutting the door. He guided Sam to stand in front of him as he sat on the toilet seat. The kid wouldn't meet his eyes, but allowed Dean to gently take his hands for inspection. "Whoa! Sam, what happened?" he repeated at the sight of scraped skin.

"I fell," Sam said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Well, I didn't think you were bitch-slapping sandpaper." Dean pulled a first aid kit out from under the sink and started cleaning the wounds. Sam mumbled something too low for Dean to hear. "What was that?"

"I..." Sam took a deep breath, "I said, 'I fell off the sink.'"

"The sink?" Dean stared at him. "What were you doing _on_ the sink?" Sam shrugged and looked at his hands. He winced when Dean dabbed alcohol over one of the cuts.

Instead of pushing for an answer, Dean focused on his task. Patience was usually the key to getting Sam to talk. Not that patience was the hunter's strongest trait, but he could quiet his urgency if it meant helping his brother.

So, he took his time cleaning the tiny palms, making sure all the dirt was gone and the bleeding stopped before coating them in ointment. He knew one of the angels would heal everything as soon as they returned, but the act of tending to Sam's wounds was sacred. When he finished, Dean pulled the stool over and helped Sam sit so he could get a look at his knees. _How did he do this falling three feet?_ he wondered to himself. It seemed like too much damage for a simple fall.

"I wanted to see my...back." The words were so quiet, Dean almost missed them. When he registered what Sam had said, his worry ratcheted up even higher. He hated it every time his brother was injured, but seeing welts and bruises and burns on the kid had taken that feeling to a new level.

"Is it still hurting?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. Sam shook his head, and stayed quiet for a minute while Dean pushed the cloth pants up the scrawny legs. The first touch of alcohol had Sam flinching but he didn't pull away. "Sorry," Dean said, trying to be both gentle and thorough.

"I wanted to see the wings," Sam finally answered. He kept his ointment-covered hands in his lap, fingers twitching like they wanted to pick at his shirt before the pain reminded him it wasn't a good idea.

Dean huffed a laugh. "You climbed up on the sink to admire your wings and fell, huh? And?"

"And what?"

"Are they _glorious_?" he asked with a grin.

"Dean..." Sam shook his head, exasperated.

"No, seriously," Dean stopped him, still smiling. He tapped the kid's chin so he'd look up. "I can't see them, Sammy. What do they look like? Are they badass? Fluffy?"

Sam sighed. "They're dumb. And ugly."

"What?!" Dean put the swabs aside and focused on Sam. No way was anything about his brother dumb or ugly—not on his watch. "They are not."

Sam scowled at him through his mess of hair. "How do you know? You can't see them."

"Because they're yours," Dean said. He ruffled the floppy curls and laughed as Sam tried to push him away with the backs of his curled up hands. "And because I'm the only one who gets to call you dumb and ugly."

"You're dumb and ugly," Sam muttered just loud enough for Dean to hear.

Dean just laughed again. "The way I understood it, the angels said you won't get your feathers until you start angel-kindergarten, or something. So, I can see why they may not be pretty enough for you yet. But why do you think they're dumb? Dude—they're wings. By definition, they are awesome."

"Well, they're not. I have zero control over them. When I want them to move, they don't. And when I want them to stay still, they're doing an interpretive dance of my feelings."

"You'll learn. Sammy, you are the biggest nerd on the planet. You gotta be excited by the chance to be an honor student again."

"I don't have time to train, Dean. The angels have a fucked up sense of time because they've been around for longer than our solar system. They didn't even think I'd get these for a few more centuries! If they think I'm gonna just hang out for decades of training..." Sam gave a frustrated groan and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Lucifer could make a move any _second_. Crowley was right—we've done nothing. We knew for days before the British invasion that Lucifer was alive and free. And now he's got a vessel. We don't have centuries—we may not even have weeks!"

Dean hated hearing the fear in his brother's voice.

He couldn't deny that he'd pushed down his own need for action in the days before Sam's kidnapping. There was just too much going on, though, with Sam's change, and the return of Mary and Gabriel. It's not like Dean was willing to launch on a solo-mission when his brother could barely sleep through the night.

But seeing Sam get hurt, knowing the helplessness they'd all felt during the entire twenty-four hours they'd been separated, was enough to make Dean reconsider hunting entirely—at least for a time. Not with Sam in such a vulnerable state.

Dean braced his hands on the thin, knobby shoulders. _Jesus, the kid's shaking,_ he thought as he rubbed some warmth back into his brother's arms. "Listen, Sam. I know this hasn't been easy for you. But it's okay to give yourself time to figure this stuff out. Lucifer can wait—and if he doesn't, then his brothers can take care of it."

Sam let out an empty laugh. "You sound like Cas."

"Good," Dean said, sliding his hands down to encircle Sam's wrists. The kid was starting to fidget like he wanted to dig into his palm. Not a good idea in current circumstances. "Because I agree with him—you _are_ more important than that son-of-a-bitch archangel."

Sam's head shot up in surprise. "How...?"

"Hey, I may not have cool psychic powers or telepathy, but I have ways." Dean smiled and leaned in closer. "We've got to stop this, Sammy. This cycle you and I have of taking turns at dying for the crisis-of-the-year sucks."

"It's not like we plan these things, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head.

"We may not plan them, but that's become our go-to solution. And I'm done with it." Dean felt something twist around his chest as he spoke the words. It was a fear that had wrapped it way around him, growing tighter over the years. It strangled him now—one last attempt at keeping the words inside. But it failed, and suddenly Dean could breathe.

Sam's arms twitched under Dean's palms, like he was going to pull away. Dean rubbed the wrists with his thumbs, trying to keep the kid calm. "'Done with it'? What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked with a shaky voice.

"I'm saying that I'm done—no more hunting. I'm officially retired as of this moment. Because Cas is right." Dean pressed their foreheads together and knew he was doing the right thing when he felt Sam lean into him. He spoke just above a whisper. "Dude, you know you've been my number one priority since you were born, right?"

"Because Dad—"

"I didn't say 'since you were six months.' I said 'born.' Those first six months I spent plastered to mom's side learning how to take care of you. You've been mine since day one, and I'm tired of seeing us give up everything. So I retire, you'll take flying lessons," he gave a dramatic shudder at the thought of flying, "and neither of us will be involved in the Lucifer problem."

"Dean..." Sam hesitated and sat back a little. "This is our life."

Dean didn't follow, but he didn't move away either. "Yes, exactly! My life didn't end with a soul-bomb, your life didn't end with a crumbling soul. Mom's life didn't end in a nursery fire. Cas and Gabe's lives didn't end with Lucifer."

Sam shook his head. "But other lives _will_ end with Lucifer if—"

"Sammy, you just fell off a sink and shredded your pants," Dean cut him off. "I'm not teasing you here, but what exactly do you think you can do against Lucifer right now? Hell, what would we do even if Chuck hadn't shrunk you? We don't have anything to go against an archangel."

"We'd think of something," Sam insisted weakly, but Dean saw him wavering. The kid's eyes were darting around as he tried to think up an argument.

"And which one of us would die this time, hmm? You? Me? Cas?" Dean paused until Sam looked back at him. "What about Mom? She's a hunter. You think she'd sit out on a hunt against the devil who hurt her son?"

Sam closed his mouth and blinked rapidly as he slowly shook his head. Dean gave him space to get his breathing under control. A glance at his watch told him they'd been talking for almost twenty minutes. He was surprised the others had listened to him.

"You really think you could do it? Give up hunting?" Sam had the same tone of voice he'd used when first speculating about the existence of angels—excited and reverent, but almost afraid to hope. He sounded like Dean had offered him something holy.

"If it means getting to live a life with you and Mom and Cas, then abso-fuckin-lutely. And that doesn't mean we gotta stop helping people. Maybe we'll start the first hunter's bed and breakfast, complete with research library and rare weapons collection. We could be like really fancy Bobbys!" As Dean said the words, he started to really picture it for himself. And he found he liked what he saw.

"It sounds like you've thought about it before," Sam said quietly.

"Maybe, a time or two." Dean smiled. "So, what do you say? Willing to give it a try?"

"It might be hard to explain to people why I'm retired as a six year old," Sam said wryly, trying not to smile back.

"But it would be worth it to see their faces." Dean stood and stretched. The crack from his back sounded obscenely loud in the small bathroom. "Come on, dude. We can work out all the details later. Let's not make Mom wait anymore to see _Return of the Jedi_."

"Wait," Sam said as he hopped off the stool. He winced as his knees straightened. "I need my shoes."

"I'll get them. I didn't just pick grit out of your hands so you can get shoe-germs all over them." Dean groaned as he bent down to get the tiny sneakers, but froze when he saw something on the floor. There were four new indents crushed into the tile. Flecks of blood mixed with dust in the center of each. "Sam, is this where you fell?"

Sam walked over in his socks and looked at the holes with the same shock dean felt. "Whoa, did I do that to the floor?"

"How? _I_ don't weigh enough to dent freaking _tile_ if I fell. You probably couldn't dent it if you tried!" Dean shook his head. "You sure you just fell?"

"I thought so," Sam bit his lip and didn't look up, "I got angry, and the wings knocked me off the sink. But as I fell, I think they turned me so I wouldn't hit my head? I don't know...it happened really fast."

"Yeah, we're definitely asking Gabe. Come on, let's go let the archangels kiss your boo boos."

"Be nice, or I'll take you flying with me when I learn how."

Dean shuddered—it would be so much worse than when he'd taught Sam to drive in the Impala. Baby hadn't shifted gears right for a week afterwards. He stared down into hazel eyes. They were dry now and shining with mischief. "You're a menace."

Sam just snorted a laugh and nodded in agreement. "I learned from the best."

"That you did."

They made the slow trek back to the movie room, continuing to exchange insults the whole way. The room was suspiciously quiet when the got there, although the reason was fairly obvious—only Castiel and Raphael were left.

"Where's the pipsqueak? Did he decide to cook lunch after all?" Dean dropped the ridiculously little shoes next to their mother's pair. He noticed Sam was staying right against the back of his leg.

Castiel's eyes narrowed as they moved further into the room. "He and your mother went to the kitchen to 'putter around.'" He stared closer at Sam. "I assumed he meant he was building a golf course off the pantry. What happened?"

"He's...what?" Dean tried to think past the idea of Gabriel golfing in his kitchen. Then his brain caught back up and he looked apologetically at Sam. He'd hoped to delay the inevitable by a few more minutes than zero. "Sam had a little accident. I cleaned him up, but just alcohol and neosporin."

Raphael held a hand out. "May I?"

Fingers held tightly to Dean's pant leg and he heard a small hiss of pain. He looked down and saw Sam studying the archangel, weighing his options. Finally, the kid nodded and padded over pillows to place his hand in the Healer's palm.

Raphael hummed as he gently inspected the wounds. Nodding, he then bent down to look at the knees. The archangel frowned and repeated Castiel's question, "What happened?"

Sam squirmed as he recounted the sink story. Dean grinned. "I think your wings were insulted and they chucked you off the counter." He meant it as a joke, but Castiel seemed to agree. Well, partially agree anyway.

"It's possible they were responding to your frustration," the seraph speculated. "I am glad you did not acquire anything worse than a scrape."

"He did," Raphael said, still frowning. "His left knee has a microscopic fracture. It would not register on human medical equipment, but I can see it. May I heal you, Samuel?"

Sam nodded, too stunned by Raphael's injury assessment to be nervous. The archangel held the kid's hands between his own and a white glow emanated from them. Moving one hand down, Raphael held his palm above the torn knees and repaired the damage to skin and bone. Even the pants were fixed.

"Thanks," Sam said with a small smile and started to move away. Raphael's grip on his hand stayed firm.

"Just a moment, Samuel. I need to check your wings." He slowly turned Sam around to see his back and let out a rolling chuckle. "You are going to be just as bad as Gabriel. We will groom these this afternoon. I need to reapply the protective barrier anyway."

Sam looked up at Dean with his patent-puppy eyes, but Dean threw his hands up and backed away. "Don't look at me! I got no authority on wing-stuff. And since you are clearly in capable hands and not in danger of climbing on counters, I'm gonna make sure Gabriel isn't cooking another feast." He threw a look at Castiel. "Or playing golf in the kitchen."

Dean looked again at Sam, giving the kid a second to let him know if he wasn't okay with being left alone. Sam gave him the all-clear nod, so Dean made his way to the kitchen. He thought maybe they had decided to go somewhere else when the hallway outside his favorite room wasn't filled with the scent of food.

Peering inside, he was surprised to find that Gabriel and Mary _were_ there, but they weren't cooking. Instead, they were sitting at the table and talking over cups of coffee. Both heads swiveled his direction when he cleared his throat. "Hey folks," he said, grabbing a cup of coffee for himself.

"How is he?" Mary asked.

"He's okay. We talked, and uh...Gabe, how would you feel about making a cake?"

The archangel raised an eyebrow. "What kind of cake?"

"A retirement cake," Dean said, suddenly nervous to say it out loud to someone besides Sam. "I'm giving up hunting. We can help people in a support capacity from here. But I can't risk losing him or Mom to this life—not after we've been given a second chance. We're leaving Lucifer to Heaven. I want to be kept in the loop, but I don't want to be involved unless he comes after us."

"Wow. Yeah. Wow." Gabriel nodded quickly. "I can do that—keep you updated _and_ make a cake."

"Sam really agreed to this?" Mary asked, unconvinced. Dean didn't blame her. She'd grown up in the life, and understood it usually only ended in a hunter's funeral.

"Sam is scared," Dean explained as he sat next to her. "Lucifer being free is his worst nightmare come to life. And he's always been made to face his fears head-on. Literally." He scoffed at a childhood memory, truly recognizing how horrifying the whole thing had been for Sam. "When he first learned about supernatural stuff, Sam was always thinking there were monsters under his bed or in closets. Dad gave him a .45."

"Comforting," Gabriel said darkly.

Mary looked ready to explode. "Just when I thought I couldn't be angrier at him..."

"What I'm trying to say," Dean rushed on, not wanting this to turn into a conversation about John, "is that Sam doesn't know how to sit out of a crisis. Not anymore, at least. This is all we know. And if we want Sam to actually give this a chance—living a life free of constant fighting and fear and danger—then I can't be running off hunting some wendigo by myself. We've been a package deal since day one, and that hasn't changed."

"So, where big brother goes, little brother follows?" Gabriel mused. "Let me tell you—fledglings are a full-time handful even in heaven. Retirement may turn out to be harder than hunting."

"Well, unlike Sammy, I ain't getting any younger. And hunters don't have long life expectancies." Dean grinned, warming up to the idea. "I want to be there for this. His childhood was full of dirty motels and abandoned homes and knowing how to avoid CPS. He deserves better this time."

"You too, kiddo," Gabriel said softly.

"What?" Dean asked, almost choking on his coffee.

"That was your childhood too," the archangel pointed out. "You both deserved better."

Dean pushed down the knee-jerk denial when he caught the storm on his mother's face. Instead, he just nodded and smiled again. "Well, bring 'better' on!"

"So what can we do?" Mary asked in a tight voice. Her smile wobbled and her eyes shined with tears, but she fought through it. Dean reached over and covered her hand with his own.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'd say, right now, we establish that no one is going anywhere. Sam was worried about Cas returning to Heaven, which isn't happening. I'm not going anywhere either, if anyone was wondering."

"Really?" Dean sat up. He hadn't thought about it much, but he'd always figured the archangel was just there to get Sam stabilized. That he'd probably leave in a month or so, then stop by once in a while to check on them.

Gabriel tilted his head as he looked at Dean with bright amber eyes. "You thought I'd leave?"

"I wasn't sure. You don't seem like the 'settle down' type of archangel," Dean said with a shrug.

"I never had a reason. Now I do."

Dean knew his surprise showed. "That simple, huh?"

"Yup!" Gabriel said happily, then grew serious. "Listen, I know we had a strong 'frenemies' thing going before, but I always liked you boneheads. And now, you've become the closest thing to family I've had since leaving Heaven. Dad sent me here for a reason—to take care of the Winchesters. Including Castiel, who is now under my authority for whatever that's worth. I'm in it for the long-haul, folks. Get used to it!" He finished with a wink.

"Hey, I could get used to anything if you keep cooking the way you do!" Dean promised.

"I'm not above using every tool at my disposal to bribe people into my corner. And," he paused and let the mischievous grin form slowly, "speaking of bribes."

"What?" Dean asked warily. A glance at Mary proved she had no idea what the archangel was referring to either.

"I heard you dug pretty deep into the bribery bag and promised Sammy a dog yesterday," Gabriel whispered like they were conspirators. "It just so happens that I know a god who breeds a very special line of canines."

"What, like a hellhound?" Dean blurted out. Sweet baby J, he _had_ promised Sam a dog, hadn't he. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Gabriel smacked him on the arm, almost knocking Dean out of his chair. "Why does everyone assume I'm going to bring him a dangerous creature? No, not like a hellhound! But it wouldn't be like any dog you've ever seen."

"In what way?" Dean almost hesitated to ask.

"In a way that it would be able to keep up with a fledgling and not get hurt. These pups are as smart as humans. Loyal and protective and a wee bit magical." Gabriel clasped his hands together and pleaded. "Please, Deano! Let me make some calls today, and I'll give you the details before you decide. If you say no, then we can go to the shelter or whatever you'd planned. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Dean sighed—they were getting a damn dog.

"Hey, dogs are awesome!" Gabriel insisted, standing up and refilling his mug. "Besides being able to help protect the kid, I think it will help give Sam some stability. Nothing says 'settling down' like getting a pet."

"Guess not," Dean muttered, then cleared his throat. "So, Mom—you ready for this?"

Mary smiled and framed his face with her delicate hands. "Absolutely, sweetheart." Rising up on her toes, she kissed his forehead. "Now, I believe you owe me a third movie. I've waited long enough for it!"

"Yes, ma'am!" He gave her a mock-salute, and grinned as she linked elbows with Gabriel. The two skipped into the hallway, laughing together. _We've all waited long enough for this._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
**

Well, folks...that sure was some season 12 finale, huh?  
All I can say is that I look forward to the vast amount of fix-it fics that will get written during the hiatus!

Meantime, here's my birthday gift to myself and y'all: over 10K of fluffs, all from the POV from Team Free Will!  
Blessings to you all-Stay loving and kind!

Come be my friend on Tumblr: TheRiverScribe


	25. After the Storm pt8

**AFTER THE STORM**  
 **PART 8: Well I'm Scared of What's Behind and What's Before.**

Raphael felt Samuel force himself to relax as Dean walked out the door. Less-controlled were his wings, which bunched into a balled-up mess against his thin shoulders. The boy was nervous, but determined to pretend otherwise.

Letting go of Samuel's wrist, the Healer trailed his fingertips down the boy's spine and pressed against the pressure points just above where his wings emerged. There was a soft gasp of surprise as the bundled grace suddenly relaxed and laid flat across Samuel's back. " **What doing?** " he asked, twisting around to see what was happening.

" **Your wings will hurt if left in such a state,** " Raphael explained. " **I am simply straightening them out until we can work on them properly.** " Besides, he was unable to resist a little grooming while they waited—they had about two and a half centuries to make up for with this fledgling.

Samuel grunted, but remained still. The Healer hummed as he worked, smoothing out the ruffled grace and bolstering the protective coating. Now that the wounds were healed, Raphael could appreciate the sheer amount of raw power contained in the young angel. When fully-grown, Samuel would likely rival Lucifer in strength and ability.

 _Is he alright, brother?_ Castiel asked privately.

Raphael nodded. _He is very strong—even more than I first estimated. We will need to start his training before his grace grows beyond his ability to control. And if his wings are beginning to propel him around, then he may start flight sooner than I'd thought._

 _He does not look happy,_ Castiel pointed out.

 _I have not yet won his trust. He is only allowing this because you are present,_ Raphael told him. The archangel continued to sift through the grace with one hand while the other began to lightly scratch the base of Samuel's neck. The muscles slowly loosened and Raphael felt ridiculously happy when the child leaned back against his knees. _This is good for him. His grace will soon begin seeking out interaction with other angels. I do not want him to fight that instinct when it grows stronger. Has he always been averse to touch?_

 _I am not sure._ Castiel sat forward, choosing his words carefully. _It is possible he had issues with physical interaction in his earlier years. I did not know him as well as I should have before the Apocalypse. Since the Cage, however, he has definitely withdrawn more, and abhorred being touched by any angel's grace. Including my own._

Raphael pressed his lips together, preventing a sigh from escaping. It was one thing to hear Michael lament his actions from the Cage—it was another to witness the consequences of those actions. He'd felt the scars between soul and grace, and he could only imagine what that soul had looked like before their Father's healing. For the first time, he felt anger burn hot in his belly at the thought of his older brothers.

 _He has been doing better, though,_ Castiel's calm voice cooled Raphael's ire. _Sam is now more apt to accept physical comfort than he was two weeks ago. He even began enjoying our daily grooming sessions._

 _Good! I find fledglings will often reach a stage where they rarely wish to be groomed when there are other things they prefer getting into._ Raphael smiled fondly. _This one really_ is _a lot like Gabriel. And he was a professional pouter. I look forward to seeing Gabriel try to deal with a head-strong fledgling of Samuel's power and temperament._

"Are you both talking about me?" Samuel interrupted with an impressive glare aimed at Castiel. "I can hear...whispering, or something."

Raphael chuckled and patted the boy's shoulder. "I was just telling Castiel how strong you are."

Samuel turned to stare suspiciously at him, but suddenly seemed to realize how close they were. Hazel eyes widened as he stepped back and promptly tripped into a pile of pillows. Raphael raised an eyebrow in amusement, but didn't move toward him. He put a hand up when he saw Castiel swing his legs onto the floor. It made the seraph pause, clearly torn between obedience and the urge to check on his charge.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Castiel asked, unable to keep quiet.

"Ugh," Samuel groaned in frustration from the floor. He made no move to get up. "I'm really starting to hate that question."

"I'm sorry," Castiel quickly responded, but Samuel waved him off.

"No, don't—it's cool, Cas. I'm fine," the boy mumbled into a pillow.

Raphael heard the others leave the kitchen and leaned back into the cushions. "Your family is returning. Do you wish to remain on the floor for the next film?" he asked casually.

Castiel shot him a worried look. _What are you doing?_

 _Relax, brother. He is alright—simply embarrassed at being startled._ Raphael was proven correct when Samuel groaned again.

"I really planned on just dying here with any dignity I have left. Can't you just pile more pillows on top of me so I can't be seen?" he pleaded, pulling one of the nearby pillows over his head.

Raphael gestured with his hand, and all the pillows of the room rose into the air. They swarmed to the boy and buried him. They were graced with a quiet squeal from underneath, followed by a muffled, "I did not mean that literally!"

The archangel winked at Castiel, whose worry now softened in amusement. "My apologies, Samuel," he said loud enough to be heard through the mountain of stuffing. "I must have misunderstood. I do not have the same grasp on human humor as my brothers."

Gabriel entered the room, followed closely by the other two Winchesters. Raphael took pleasure in the shocked expression on the younger archangel's face. He stared with an open mouth at the moving mound. "Do I want to know?"

Dean shouldered past the Messenger to take in the scene. His face twisted as he tried not to laugh. "What the hell, Sammy!" he said as he picked pillows off the top and aimed them at Castiel's head. The seraph batted each back to the floor. "This is the worst pillow fort I've ever seen. Dude, I know I taught you better than this!"

When the last pillow was removed, Samuel rolled onto his back and stared up at his brother. "I was hoping for an honorable death before you found me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Get up," he said, grabbing the boy's hands and pulling him to his feet. "No dying before I get a retirement cake!"

"Not pie?" Samuel asked, pulling his hands back.

Dean paused, then turned to Gabriel. "I'm changing my order—I want retirement pie instead."

"You got it," Gabriel said as he kicked a path through the strewn pillows. "Any particular flavor or type?"

"All of them. One of each!"

"Dean!" Samuel sounded horrified. "Don't tell him that! He'll _do_ it, and you know it!"

"So?" Dean plopped back down on the couch next to Raphael, nudging him with a sharp elbow. "You only retire once, am I right?" The Healer was unsure what exactly 'retirement' entailed, but it seemed important to humans.

"Retire?" Castiel asked before Raphael could respond.

The hunter launched into an explanation that involved beds and breakfast for passing hunters. Raphael half-listened, intrigued by the idea but more interested in the flood of emotions pouring off Samuel. It wasn't surprise—he suspected the brothers had already discussed the idea earlier. But hearing Dean say it in front of everyone was clearly affecting him.

Samuel stood in the middle of the room, staring at his brother in amazement. His eyes darted to the others as though checking to make sure they were all hearing the same words. Raphael gave him a warm smile when those eyes turned to him.

Mary went to her youngest and held her hand out. "Sit with me for this one?"

The boy took her hand and nodded. "Sure. Mom." He hesitated between words.

Raphael wondered if it was the unfamiliarity of her title that gave Samuel pause. He watched as the mother led her son around to his side of the couch. Dean shifted closer to Castiel, making room for them both. Mary tried to draw Samuel forward by his hand to have him sit next to his brother, but he stood firm.

"You sit there, mom," he said, pushing her leg until she moved. He glanced at Raphael, and for a second the archangel feared he'd done something wrong—that the boy no longer trusted him to sit next to his mother. But then, the gaze turned shy and the corner of Samuel's lips turned up. "That way you can watch the movie and I can answer any questions either of you have. Don't bother asking Dean—he'll be too distracted by Leia's slave costume."

Mary relented and looked delighted to find herself between both her boys. Samuel climbed onto the couch and sat stiffly, picking nervously at his pants. He reminded Raphael of a tiny perched bird that might fly off any second, so he kept his vessel still and relaxed.

A wave of giddy joy flowed in from the other archangel, and he looked up. _Aww, it looks like you've made a friend,_ Gabriel said with raised eyebrows.

Raphael's grace warmed with delight at the prospect of gaining Samuel's trust. _Be careful, Gabriel. His ears are quite sensitive..._

"I can hear you both," Samuel interrupted their silent conversation in a quiet voice.

The Healer's lips quirked at Gabriel's shocked face. "Yes, I was just telling Gabriel that."

"You could hear us?" Gabriel asked.

Samuel smirked at the archangel. "Kinda. I can tell you're talking, but it just sounds like vague whispers. You think I'll get better at listening in with practice?"

Gabriel gasped and staggered against the end of the couch by the door, clutching his chest. "Did you hear that, Raph?! He wants to be a sneaky, devious angel!" He sounded like his greatest dream was finally being realized.

Raphael sighed at his brother's antics. "Yes, yes. I am sure you will be a wonderful mentor in mischief."

"Great, just what we need," Dean jumped in. "A grace-fueled prank war. Mom, remind me next time we go shopping to get hair dye and superglue. If war breaks out, we gotta be prepared."

"Oh God," she muttered, slightly horrified by the prospect.

"Gabriel, perhaps you should start the next movie," Castiel suggested.

Gabriel laughed and quickly switched out the discs. "Anyone need anything before I press play? Food, drink?" Everyone shook their heads. The archangel snapped his fingers, lowering the lights and starting the film.

Instead of returning to sit by Castiel's feet, Gabriel belly-flopped on the opposite side of the couch and stretched out next to Raphael. The Healer chuckled and began absentmindedly playing with the golden wings as he watched the movie. Gabriel groaned obscenely and burrowed further into the cushions.

"Hey!" Dean whispered loudly. A pillow launched over their heads to land on Gabriel. "Those are _not_ appropriate noises! Especially not when freakin' Jabba the Hutt is on screen!"

Gabriel snorted and mumbled something about "stupid mortals," but fell quiet after that.

Raphael basked in the comfort of the flock around him. The earlier tensions had eased enough that they were now drifting on an infectious giddiness. Mary held both her boys' hands as they watched the screen. Half-way through, Samuel started listing to the side, head nodding as he fought to keep his eyes open.

When the battle with exhaustion was lost, Raphael was startled to feel a small head lean against his arm. He froze and looked down. Samuel had fallen asleep, chin resting on his chest and still holding his mother's hand.

Mary was watching them with equal parts longing and fondness.

And as much as he appreciated the chance to sit with the boy, Raphael did not wish to step on a mother's toes. "Would you like me to shift him to you?" he whispered, already trying to move his arm without waking Samuel, but she stopped him.

"No, no, no," she said in a rush of air. "Let him sleep."

Dean leaned around his mother to assess the situation and nodded. "She's right," he murmured quietly and stood up. "He's the kinda kid you gotta let sleep where he falls. If he wakes up now, he won't go back down for hours, and he'll be mad at the world. Although, if his neck cramps like this, he'll be mad anyway." The hunter carefully tilted his brother's head back and pulled the boy so he was more reclined. Samuel didn't react except to take a deep breath once he wasn't hunched over.

Gabriel lifted his head and blinked at them. "We need to start taking pictures if he's gonna be so stinking cute all the time."

Raphael pushed the floppy haired head down into the cushion to shush him. He felt the vibrations of Gabriel's laughter through the couch. _You heard the human, Gabriel. Do not wake Samuel._

Gabriel settled down, but amusement sang through his grace loudly enough that Raphael had to buffer the boy from it. He returned his attention to the younger archangel's wings, calming his excited grace. By the time the movie ended, Dean was also asleep with his head on Castiel's shoulders.

Mary sat in the middle, bemused by her children. "Well," she huffed, "I thought the movie was exciting!" Untangling their hands, she got up and stretched. "Is Gabriel asleep?"

"No," Raphael said at the same time his brother let out a snore. He poked the archangel in the ribs and Gabriel jolted away with a laugh. "We do not sleep. He is just lazy."

"Hey!" Gabriel rolled up on his knees, hair flying everywhere like a rat's nest. "I am _not_ lazy. I prefer the term 'resting while having the chance,' thank you very much. And it's a necessary trait when living with this crew."

"Shh," Castiel said with a scowl. "Go away if you're going to be loud."

"You're kinda cranky there, Cassie. Maybe you need a nap too." Gabriel turned to look at the seraph, and for a moment Raphael thought the Messenger might explode with exhilaration. Gabriel pulled out a cell phone and tapped it. There was a click, and he repeated it while facing Samuel. "Pictures or it never happened, Raphael. That's the human rule," he said with a wink.

"Gabriel!" Castiel whispered fiercely, but the archangel was already out of the room.

"I'll go make sure he doesn't do anything crazy like destroy the kitchen in a pie-baking extravaganza," Mary said, following quickly after Gabriel.

They sat in silence, each angel left to their own thoughts. It gave Raphael time to contemplate how drastically everything had changed. Thirty-six hours ago, this child had viciously fought his assistance—literally fought tooth and nail. And now Samuel was drooling on him. He counted it as a victory.

Raphael knew he would need quite a few more wins in order to begin teaching the fledgling grace work and flight. It required trust, and while he'd made some headway, they still had quite a ways to go.

He did not look forward to giving Michael his update on the situation here. The Commander already carried great guilt and self-loathing over his role in harming Samuel Winchester. It was not going to go over well when he learned how much the boy had suffered since escaping the Cage—especially at the hands of angels.

Samuel's reaction to the angelic guard that morning still unsettled Raphael. He'd been unprepared for the fledgling's fear and anxiety at the sight of Heaven's warriors. There had been no way to simultaneously reassure him _and_ guard the demon. In fact, he'd worried afterwards that his own aggressive actions may have harmed any progress he'd made with the youngest angel.

Gabriel had warned him that angels were at the top of the Winchesters' 'Untrustworthy' list, and he'd expected the suspicion during Samuel's healing. Raphael had _not_ been ready for the child to fear his own protectors when faced with so obvious an enemy as the King of Hell. They would need to be careful when introducing him to angels in the future—any negative interaction would be devastating.

Movement at his side drew Raphael out of his thoughts. The boy drew his knees up as he turned to push his face between the archangel's arm and the couch. He heard Samuel's breathing hitch, but it didn't wake him up.

"Raphael, do not use your grace," Castiel said in a low, urgent voice as he shook Dean awake.

The hunter came to consciousness instantly. "Cas, what...?"

"Sam's going into a nightmare," was all Castiel needed to say.

Dean turned and slid across the couch to his brother. He barely acknowledged Raphael, focusing entirely on the boy now trying to wedge his body behind the archangel. They heard the frantic breathing mix with whimpers.

"Sammy? Come on, dude, you're gonna feel weird if you wake up back there." Dean spoke in a soothing tone. He got an arm around his brother's torso and pulled him up against his own chest. A growl lodged in the back of Samuel's throat, held in place by grinding teeth. Sharp fingers twisted in Raphael's tunic, trying to prevent being forced away.

The archangel watched as hazel eyes, bright with grace, flew open. They stared without focusing, wild and desperate. A foot narrowly missed Raphael's head when the boy bucked against his brother's hold. Snapping his head back, Samuel landed a solid blow to Dean's face and won his freedom. The hunter fell against Castiel, biting back curses as blood poured from his broken nose.

Samuel dove forward again, blindly burrowing between Raphael and the couch. The Healer leaned forward, giving the boy enough space to hide. Fingers tangled in his wings and yanked them closer. Raphael grunted, quickly folding them down so they enveloped the terrified boy. Electrified grace jolted through them, but Raphael absorbed it, containing the energies within his wings.

 _ **Castiel! Gabriel! Please find find find...**_ Samuel's mental cry rang painfully loud in Raphael's mind. He heard Castiel gasp, and Gabriel flew into the room with his angel blade in hand.

One glance at the child had Gabriel dropping his blade and rushing forward. " **Here, Samuel. We are right here. You are home.** " He jumped onto the couch to Raphael's left, trying to see the boy through the curtain of grace.

" **Peace, Gabriel,** " Raphael said softly. " **Talk calmly so he does not wake up to you being upset. Castiel, please heal Dean and take him to clean up. I do not believe Samuel will be comfortable to find everyone staring or his brother covered in blood.** "

Castiel nodded and laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, flying them away. Without the hunter's constant stream of muttering filling the room, it was much easier to focus on Samuel's fast breathing. Raphael winced as he felt another spark ignite across his wings.

" **He is quite powerful, even while asleep** ," Gabriel said, seeing Raphael's reaction. " **His grace will continue lashing out until he is awake, and even then we may need to drain it. Any suggestions?** "

Raphael gave his brother a pained smile. " **I am able to contain it at the moment. Talk to him—let him hear your voice. He is half-awake now, but trapped in memory. His grace recognizes me as a source of safety from yesterday, but it is you he wants. Reassure him.** "

Gabriel nodded and settled in his corner of the couch along side them.

* * *

Sam was lost in that _place_ filled with fear and cold and hands that hurt.

 _'You will learn my rules, little monster. You have no choice here...'_

He heard Shepard's voice, filled with delight at the prospect of punishing him. Felt his hair being twisted in a steel grip to drag him back to the cage. All he wanted to do was run and hide.

Sam found a small, warm space he could curl up in and wait until the danger passed. It seemed familiar, calling to him like a song. But hands grabbed him before he could crawl into place.

 _'Where exactly did you think you were going?'_

Throwing his head back, he decided the explosion of pain was worth it when he heard the crunch of bone. His captor's hands disappeared, and Sam took his chance. The hiding place called louder, and he followed it to find radiating heat.

It was a tight squeeze, but Sam forced himself to fit. A gruff voice cursed loudly, and Sam sent up a desperate prayer for a miracle. Something soft touched his face, like a thick curtain warmed in the afternoon sun. Sam grabbed it and pulled, hoping to hide himself from searching eyes.

Another voice joined the outside noise, adding to the need to stay hidden. Sam knew his breathing was too loud, too fast, and tried to stifle the sound by pressing his face into the wall. A deep rumble rolled around him, and he knew he'd heard it before—he just couldn't remember where, or why it made him think safety was nearby. Then, everything fell silent.

When the newer voice spoke again, it was answered by another roll of thunder. The curtain shifted and Sam feared he'd been discovered. He froze, tightening his grasp on the fabric as though he could hold it there by sheer force of will. Surprisingly, the curtain stopped moving.

Sam strained his ears but didn't hear anything to indicate whether the man was leaving or not. Then the wall rumbled, soft and sustained in a way that was almost musical. Sam leaned into it, sighing at the unspoken peace he felt at the sound.

A voice whispered lowly on the other side of the curtain, holding none of its earlier urgency. He tensed, unsure of their intent. It took a while for Sam to make out individual words, and even longer for him to understand their meaning.

" **Samuel, you are home. We found you—Castiel and I found you. It is safe to come out, little guy.** " The man sighed. " **Raphael, are you sure this is working?** "

The music was interrupted by a staccato of bass before returning to its heavy purr. Sam felt a breeze blow against the curtain, swirling softly around him, and he wondered why it wasn't freezing like the air conditioner. It slowed and settled like another layer of protection over him.

The man laughed, high and giddy, and Sam could breathe freely again. He knew that laugh even if he couldn't quite remember the name or face associated with it. " **There is no way my singing to Samuel is going to help this situation!** I'm more of the 'back-up karaoke animal noises in B-52s songs' kinda guy, Raph. **I know what you are thinking, Samuel—how can Heaven's Messenger not be the most magnificent singer of the Host? I think Father knew I would have been** _ **too**_ **perfect and decided rightly to keep me humble.** "

Sam's mind whirled as memories and lore slotted into place. 'Messenger' was a title belonging to... _Gabriel!_ Sam felt hope bloom in his chest. Had the archangel heard his prayer?

"I hear ya, Samshine!" Gabriel said with another round of laughter, and Sam realized the angel was listening to his scattered thoughts. "I'm right here—just me and Raph. Your brother and mom and Cas are in the other room. Everyone is safe and sound. You just take your time waking up, okay?"

 _Waking up?_ Sam blinked, not realizing his eyes had been clenched shut. Light blinded him unexpectedly. How could it be so bright when he was under a curtain and wedged against a wall?

Shapes formed in the light—white feathers with emerald veins fell over his face and shoulders. A golden glow shone through them like sunlit leaves. Looking down, Sam was horrified to find his hands clenched around what he realized were wings. He gasped and forced his fingers to let go. The wings shook out, returning the twisted feathers to their rightful place. But they didn't retract—they remained draped around him, keeping him safely hidden from the world. After a breath, Sam realized Gabriel was still rambling.

"...fell asleep before you could see Raphael learn that Luke and Leia are twins. Oh, his face! I'll have to show you later. You only get to experience these things for the first time _once_. Oh, and your mom!" Gabriel gave a low whistle. "I thought she was gonna cry through the last hour or so of it. I think she really liked Vader's redemption arc. Also, your big bro totally fell asleep too. _On Cassie!_ Don't worry—I got pictures. Dad Above, tell me those two haven't been this a-dork-able this whole time. Ugh, they make me want to puke and grin at the same time. I don't know how you stand it!"

Sam huffed softly and shifted in place. His legs were starting to cramp from being awkwardly crammed against...not a wall. Looking past the wings, he saw ivory cloth with elegant gold embroidery—Raphael's tunic.

"Yeah, I bet you've made that sound a lot over the years. Somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—that's a good response to our ridiculous brothers. I mean, what else _can_ you say? It's not like either of them listen. They must be the two most oblivious creatures in all of creation." Gabriel carried on the one-sided conversation, untroubled by Sam's lack of input.

Slowly, Sam's mind returned to the present. They were back in the bunker. The Brits were gone. They'd been watching movies—'Star Wars.'

His stomach turned, threatening to rebel as he finally realized his immediate situation. Sam swallowed hard and fought the urge to shove the archangel away. This wasn't his first nightmare—he could still see static sparks flying off Raphael's wings. Sam's own grace was crawling restlessly across his skin and his limbs shook as the adrenaline tapered off. It was obvious he'd lashed out in his sleep. Again.

"You doing okay in there?" Gabriel' voice made him jump.

Sam couldn't talk for fear of vomiting. Instead, he focused on pushing gently against the wings, hoping he didn't hurt the archangel further. He needed to see something that wasn't grace-light before he got too dizzy.

The dazzling curtain parted, revealing Raphael's broad shoulders. And beside them, against a backdrop of indigo walls, was Gabriel. He was slouched down in the couch, thumbing through his phone and looking at Sam through the corner of his eye. It was so casual, like they'd just been hanging out.

"Do you see this?" Gabriel asked in a whisper as he held his phone up.

Blinking, Sam found himself smiling at the photo of his brother mid-snore on a narrow-eyed Castiel's shoulder. Of course, the glare was aimed at the camera, not Dean, so Sam assumed it was put there by Gabriel. He stared at his brother's face and felt the last tendrils of panic slide away. His family was safe, and so was he. All that remained was the building tidal wave of embarrassment about to crash over him.

His eyes moved back to Gabriel. The archangel was watching him closely, and Sam was sure he looked like a total mess. "I'm okay," he croaked barely above a whisper.

Gabriel nodded with a sad smile. "I know, kiddo. But you don't have to be...if you're not."

Sam shook his head. He did _not_ want to talk about it. Giving name to the clawing helplessness only drew attention to how _not okay_ he really felt. But Gabriel kept going—directly into the heart of what Sam was desperate to avoid.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get to you faster." Gabriel continued softly. "Those _people_ had no right to hurt you."

Sam scrambled out from behind Raphael, pushing with his feet to get his body moving. He staggered to the floor and landed on his knees, already heaving. A bucket appeared in front of his face just in time.

Large hands pushed his hair away from his face while he threw up. Sam let them hold his head up, resting his forehead against a cool palm. Grace flowed down his scalp and spine, washing away the nausea. His stomach relaxed mid-cramp and he took a second to breathe before sitting back on his heels.

Raphael was kneeling next to him, a picture of eternal patience. He handed Sam a bottle of water to rinse out his mouth. When it was clear that Sam was done, the bucket vanished.

" **Would you like to go outside for some fresh air?** " Raphael asked.

Sam waited to see if 'talking' was going to be a stipulation to the offer, but Raphael simply waited for an answer. Nodding, he pulled himself to standing using the couch as leverage. His knees shook, almost giving out, and he leaned on the seats until he felt confident he'd stay upright.

"I'm fine," Sam said when both archangels reached out to steady him.

"Okay," Gabriel assured, taking a step back.

Raphael remained kneeling with his hand out. When Sam met his eyes, the archangel spoke quietly. " **You are not fine, Samuel. You were taken from your home and held by strangers who did you great harm. I know you—no, look at me please.** "

Sam shut his eyes and buried his face in his arms against the couch. What was wrong with everyone? Why couldn't they just leave it alone? The seconds ticked by, and the longer he stayed hidden, the more he wished his stupid wings worked so he could fly off. He felt them shift against his back.

Fingers pressed into the same pressure point as before, and the wings flattened automatically. " **No trying to fly away just yet, little one. I need you to look at me. Come on,** " Raphael voice was low and firm. Sam reluctantly turned his head and opened his eyes. The archangel's gaze was warm, but serious. " **That is better, thank you. As I was saying, I know you are strong—I have never met anyone so young with your determination and willpower. But you need to understand something. Are you listening?** " Sam nodded, barely breathing. " **You cannot 'will' this away. Human minds are incredibly complex, and capable of repressing memories until a later time. Angels do not have this ability.** "

Sam frowned. " **So...?** " He didn't even know how to finish the sentence. So what now? What was he supposed to do—have therapy sessions? Talking wouldn't change what had happened. And it wasn't like the angels he knew were particularly chatty when it came to feelings, with the possible exception of Gabriel. But Gabriel was an exception on too many levels to count.

" **So, while it is good to take your time and heal at your own speed, there is nothing beneficial in lying to yourself or others about your well-being.** " Raphael's words were blunt, and felt like a blow.

Sam pushed himself upright, dislodging Raphael's hand on his wings. " **Not lying!** " he said furiously. He glanced at Gabriel, expecting the archangel to at least be torn as to who's side he would take. But the amber eyes held his gaze without wavering—a single eyebrow raised, questioning Sam's statement.

" **Look at me, Samuel,** " Raphael ordered. Sam considered ignoring him out of spite, but caved when he realized how childish it would appear. Even kneeling, Raphael towered over him. Sam missed _not_ looking up at everyone. " **Good. Now, can you honestly tell me that you are 'fine' after everything you went through these last two days?** "

" **Yes,** " Sam answered with a scowl. He had to force himself not to drop his gaze.

" **You are fine with being kidnapped?** "

" **Yes.** "

" **And with being locked in a cage?** "

Sam flinched. " **Yes,** " he answered, but he couldn't keep the quiver out of his voice.

" **And with being beaten for not answering their questions?** " Raphael steadily pushed, keeping his tone calm and curious.

" **Yes.** " Sam's throat grew tight. Why was he asking these things?

" **You are fine with being chained to a floor and sprayed with water? Being told that your family—** "

" **No! You stop!** " Sam swung without thinking, desperate to make the archangel be quiet. How did he even know...?

Raphael had Sam's wrist in an unshakable hold before he could register taking the swing. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Sam stared at the enormous hand wrapped around most of his forearm, and didn't know whether to be ashamed or terrified. He heard a weird sound, and realized it was his own breathing—too fast and heavy, like he'd sprinted for miles.

" **Sorry,** " he gasped and tried to pull his hand back. It didn't budge. Sam looked at Gabriel, silently begging the other archangel for help.

Gabriel sighed and walked around the obstacle course of pillows and ottomans. He crouched down next to them and Sam felt his panic rise. Caged in between two archangels, unable to move, was never a good situation.

" **Sorry! I...sorry!** " Sam repeated. The Healer's grip was like steel, but it didn't hurt or crush his wrist. He tried to peel Raphael's fingers away with his other hand to no avail. " **Sorry, Raphael! Please...** "

Raphael drew their arms down between them, and shifted his hold so he had both of Sam's hands between his own palms. " **Hush, child. You are safe—no one is angry.** " He raised a hand to Sam's face, using his thumbs to wipe away tears Sam didn't know were there. " **I am a healer, Samuel. I care for the sick and wounded. I will not allow your pain to fester—you have suffered too much already in your lifetime.** "

Sam couldn't look away any more than he could stop the tears that continued to fall. There had been times in his life when he'd have given anything to hear these words directed at him. Dean had come close a few times, but it was always wrapped in anger or fear of losing Sam. Bare minimum survival had become their best-case scenario—pain didn't matter as long as they remained alive. Now that he heard the words, Sam didn't know what to do.

" **What you want I do?** " Sam asked, his voice shaking as he tried not to sob.

" **I want you to be honest. I cannot make you talk to me, but I ask that you do not try to hide when you are hurting.** " Raphael leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sam's forehead. Grace flowed through their connection, soothing some of the raw emotions churning below his skin. " **Strength comes in many forms, from personal strength to strength in numbers. You are not alone in this, Samuel.** "

Sam gave a short nod. Even if he'd been able to speak, he had no idea what words to use. His brain was too tired to form a sentence in English or Enochian.

" **Come on—we can discuss this more later.** " Raphael gave him a broad smile and tucked a strand of Sam's hair behind his ears. " **For now, we will go outside. You need air and sunshine. I will groom you, as well as Gabriel and Castiel, because all three of you are a mess and in need of some attention.** "

"I am not a mess," Gabriel grumbled.

" **Who is lying now, hmm?** " Raphael shot back. " **What am I going to do with you two? I do not suppose you would allow me to tether you both to my side for a century or three.** "

"The question is—could you survive being tied to a growing thunderstorm that long? Because that's what you'd get with the two of us—nothing but wind and lightning." Gabriel challenged with a snort. "Besides, think of all the bland things you wouldn't be able to sit and stare at for decades."

" **Watch your tone, little hummingbird,** " Raphael warned. Sam couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but Gabriel stilled at his side. " **I would have tied you to me from the beginning if I had known I would lose you.** "

" **I know,** " Gabriel whispered.

" **Then you should not tempt me to start now by doing anything foolhardy. And I will know—even if I am not here, I will know.** " Sam found himself smiling at the archangel's words—it sounded like something Dean would say. A finger tapped his nose, and he looked up into Raphael's narrowed eyes. " **That goes for both of you.** "

Sam swallowed and nodded. Who knew 'angels watching over you' would be so intimidating? He didn't think _this_ was quite what his mother had in mind all those years ago.

"Good job, Sammy," Gabriel teased in his ear. "You think Dean is a tough mother hen? Wait till you've got Raph in full 'big-brother' mode. It'll be years before he relaxes his guard enough for us to prank him."

Sam felt his cheeks heat up. Sure, Castiel had considered him family, but that relationship was forged over the span of years. They had fought and died for each other. Having grace might make the Host see Sam as some new kind of angel, but at best he was like a stray cousin. Knowing his luck, most of the angels would see him as an even greater abomination—a demon-tainted broken soul with the grace of an absent Father.

Raphael's head tilted in concentration, and Sam dropped his gaze. " **Did you know all angels consider each other to be siblings?** "

There was an awkward silence. Sam stared at his hands still being carefully held by the Healer. "Umm, I guess?" he finally said with a shrug. "Cas always called other angels 'brother' or 'sister.'"

" **And that you are our newest and youngest brother?** " Raphael asked, fingers pushing the curls out of Sam's eyes.

Sam grimaced, biting his lip to keep from outright denying it. The idea was too abstract—he didn't know how to belong to a family larger than Dean, Cas, and himself. He didn't even know how Mary fit into the equation, let alone Gabriel, Raphael, and apparently all of fucking Heaven. How could he _be_ a little brother to anyone but Dean?

* * *

 _Raphael, don't you think you're rushing that conversation a bit? The kid's got enough to think about without throwing in "welcome to the family—hope you like having thousands of new siblings who will all know your face and name!"_ Gabriel asked, careful to keep the words from Sam's sensitive ears.

 _But he needs to know!_ Raphael insisted.

Gabriel was taken aback by the forceful tone. _Know what? That he's related to an entire race that used to hunt and manipulate him? Timing, bro..._

 _Fine. But he should at least know that you and I see him as more than an obligation._ Raphael gave him a pointed look. _I will not let him continue believing he is an inconvenient duty._

 _He doesn't..._ Gabriel turned to look at Sam. The boy was chewing his lip off while he worked through the his existential angst in silence. _You're right. Of course he sees himself that way. And I agree it needs fixing. But still...don't overload his brain!_

Sighing, Gabriel lightly scratched along Sam's shoulders to ease him out of his thoughts. "Relax, kiddo. Raphael may be right, but he's also a pushy know-it-all. He's literally the original overbearing big brother—the first to take care of all the younger ones. And there hasn't been a new baby in the family since forever, so he's gonna be _extra_ fussy for a while."

Gabriel was met with simultaneous outrage from both parties. Raphael growled out "I do not fuss!" the same time Sam said, "I am not a baby!"

Gabriel's eyes darted back and forth between them, then gave a low whistle. "Damn, Raph! You think he's _my_ mini-me?" He twirled his hand and waved the tiny white flag that appeared. "By your powers combined, I surrender!"

Sam's glare turned more playful and he huffed a laugh. "You are such a drama queen."

Gabriel opened his mouth to retort, but Raphael beat him to it. "Hmm, 'drama queen.' I think I like that term. It suites you, Gabriel."

"Well, I've got a few choice names in mind for you, old man." Gabriel placed his hands around Sam's ears, pretending to block out the noise, and whispered loudly, "You're just gonna have to wait until innocent ears aren't listening."

Sam batted away the hands and swore, in fluent Enochian, something that had no translation in English. Both archangels gasped in shock. The boy flashed a proud grin and started toward the hall, taking advantage of their momentary stupor.

"Samuel Winchester!" Gabriel finally said, his voice higher than normal. " _Where_ in our Father's creation did you learn _that?!_ " He had to give Sam credit—the kid was gutsy. The smile faltered, and Gabriel suddenly feared the answer would be "the Cage."

"Umm, I'm pretty sure I picked that one up from Gadreel. He knew a lot of really creative words and phrases. Must have been all that time in Heaven's prison." Sam shrugged awkwardly. "Are you coming?"

Gabriel watched him, waiting to see if there was any sign of anxiety over the memory. But all he saw was exhaustion mixed with lingering embarrassment. Those were two things the archangel knew he could help fix. "Okay, potty mouth. Let's get outside before the sun sets. Or before you send Raphael into hysterics with more of your 'creative' language skills."

He stood and stretched his vessel. Raphael hadn't moved, not even to blink. Gabriel grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Yes, thank you, Gabriel. I am perfectly capable of standing on my own," Raphael said, shaking his head as though to clear it.

"Oh, I know! It's just that some of us would like it to be today, old man." Gabriel made a face at his brother and laughed when he heard him sputter in indignation. "I think Sam wins the eloquence award for the day."

"There's an award?" Sam piped up.

"Hell yeah, there's an award! First in line for an ultra-deluxe grooming session with a team of Heaven's finest!" Gabriel announced as they walked through the bunker.

Sam's face scrunched up. "What?! That's a terrible award."

Gabriel grinned. "You better watch out, Samsquatch. _He_ can hear you!" he warned with a nod toward Raphael. "Insult the grooming process and you'll end up in double sessions for weeks."

The boy looked at Raphael out of the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything. _Smart kid,_ Gabriel thought. He sent a quick word to Castiel, letting him know where they were headed. The seraph agreed to meet them there with the others.

Outside, the air was cool and fresh. The sun sat low among the trees, casting long shadows across the ground. Gabriel kept a close eye on Sam as they walked slowly around the building. He felt the tension practically vibrate off the kid's grace as his scrawny arms wrapped around himself. He wondered if it was for warmth or protection—or possibly both.

Gabriel steered them straight for the firepit. He snapped his fingers, instantly arranging the blankets and pillows. Footsteps crunched through the yard behind them, and the archangel sighed in relief to have the flock all in one place.

Sam had the opposite reaction. His heart rate spiked as he spun in place to face them. Arms at his side and fists at the ready, the kid dropped his weight into a lower fighting stance.

Gabriel quickly turned, afraid he'd misread who was approaching. But it was just his brother and the Winchesters. They slowed their steps, hesitating at his response. Mary and Castiel looked to the archangels for some kind of signal, but Dean kept his eyes on Sam.

The hunter recovered first, shaking his head and walking faster. "You've already bested me once today, Sammy. And I ain't looking for a rematch, so chill."

"Sorry. I didn't know it was you." Sam relaxed his hands and deliberately took a deep breath.

"It's cool, man." Dean sprawled out on the blanket and stared up at the sky. The sun had faded, allowing stars to appear one-by-one.

Sam frowned. "What do you mean I bested you?"

"Dude, you busted my face with your head when you woke up. You don't remember?" Dean looked confused.

"I...what?" Sam turned horrified eyes on Gabriel for confirmation.

Castiel beat him to the punch. "You weren't completely awake yet, Sam. The injury was minor, but...visually dramatic." The seraph joined them, stealing the pillow out from under Dean's head. "Much like your brother," he added as an afterthought.

"Hey!" Dean shouted in protest as his head hit the ground. "That was _mine_. And did you just call me 'visually dramatic?'"

"Is that similar to 'drama queen?'" Raphael asked as he grabbed two pillows. Sitting on one, he placed the other in front of him.

"Hey!" was yelled again, this time by both Dean and Gabriel.

Sam let out a laugh, surprising everyone including himself. "Yes. In this context, it absolutely is."

Raphael patted the empty pillow, beckoning the boy to him. Gabriel nudged the kid closer. "Go on. Reap your reward." He waited until Sam actually settled in place before he dropped down onto the blanket too.

Mary took a seat between him and Castiel. "Reward?"

"Oh yes," Gabriel said with a grin. It only grew when he saw Sam's face fall. "Your boy won the eloquence award earlier."

"Really?" Mary asked, turning to Sam. "And why is that?"

"He showed off some advanced vocabulary skills that put even Raphael to shame." Gabriel answered. Sam turned red as he ducked his head down.

Mary blinked, looking between her son and the archangels. "And...what did he say?"

"Yeah, Sam. Share with the class." Dean propped himself up on his elbows to get a clear view of his brother. "It's gotta be good if Gabe's making that face."

Sam covered his face with this hands and groaned.

"Gabriel!" Raphael snapped his name like a rebuke. "No one will be repeating those words. Ever."

There was a moment of silence. Then, Dean laughed. "Damn, Sam. What the hell did you say to get them so worked up?"

"Nothing, Dean," Sam mumbled into his hands. "You wouldn't understand it anyway—it was in Enochian."

"What, like that dirty joke Cas told forever ago? That one about breeding with a goat's mouth..." Dean frowned in concentration, trying to remember the words.

Gabriel choked. "Cassie! What kind of jokes have you been teaching these boys? No wonder Sam swears worse than a sailor."

"It was not a joke. It was a fake exorcism being used by the Whore," Castiel growled, glaring at Dean.

"Excuse me?" Mary sputtered.

"Of Babylon," Castiel quickly amended. "The Whore of Babylon—we encountered her during the Apocalypse."

"That...does not make it better," Mary said with a sigh.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Not helping, Cas."

Light giggles echoed around the fire as Gabriel watched Raphael fall into the familiar routine of grooming a fledgling. They had all come so far in such a short amount of time, and the journey was no where near finished. Training and lessons would have to happen soon, and there was a backlog forming of issues that still needed addressing. The biggest item on the list that he planned to take care of first, though, was getting Sam a damn dog. And he knew just the person to call.

But all that could wait a few more hours. For now, Gabriel soaked in the joy that danced across his grace, and sighed in contentment. His flock was safe, his family reformed, and life was good.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

SHOUT OUT to my beta-peeps: ScrollingKingfisher and Nathyfaith! You two keep me on the semi-straight and narrow, and prevent super embarassing mistakes from making their way into my stories!

ALSO, a big-ol' WEEPING THANK YOU to MonPetitTresor for engaging in a free-for-all motivational session on Tumblr! You, sir, are an angel sent by Chuck. This chapter is dedicated to you and your sweetie (let him know that this was ALMOST dedicated JUST to him...because you waxed on and on about how unmotivated you were, and then proceeded to post THREE NEW THINGS! And *I* had to NOT read them so I could get this finished!).

One more chapter to go on the "After the Storm" arc ...and then we are MOVING ON to some new things.  
(Hmm, wonder what's going on in Heaven these days...)  
Thanks to everyone who has continued to read and comment and message me. Y'all give me life!

Come be my friend on Tumblr under the name TheRiverScribe!


	26. After the Storm pt9

**AFTER THE STORM** **  
** **PART 9: We Stood Tall, and Remembered Our Own Land, What We Lived For.**

Gabriel waited until everyone was asleep to make the call.

The evening had been full of laughter and stories. True to his word, Raphael gave all the angels a thorough work-over. The humans found endless amusement in the effects it had on them. Dean had to carry his sleeping brother back to the bedroom while Castiel stumbled after him, grace-drunk and giggling. It took both archangels to get them all tucked in and settled.

 _Go make your calls, Gabriel. I will keep watch,_ Raphael promised.

 _It may take some time. There's a few people who may be able to help, and some can't be reached on a cell phone._ Gabriel smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of Sam's blankets, smiling when the boy snuggled down further.

 _Go, Gabriel,_ Raphael said with amusement. _I will let you know if anyone wakes up. Or sneezes._

 _You better,_ Gabriel gave him a mock scowl. As he walked out of the room, he waved a hand and a box of tissues appeared on the table. _Just in case._

Raphael's laugh echoed in his mind all the way to the kitchen. Once there, Gabriel gathered his materials and laid them out on the table. Then, he pulled out his phone and started on the easier calls.

By morning, he had a plan and an appointment. After five phone calls, four rituals, and a lot more humility and begging than he was used to using, Gabriel found someone who understood what he needed. At sunset, he would meet with one of the few goddesses who universally commanded respect.

Even archangels admired Hecate—and tonight, the sixteenth of November, was _her_ night.

When Dean shuffled into the kitchen, he was greeted to a mess of magical ingredients and discarded bowls. "Umm, I hope none of those were used for breakfast," he said in a sleep-gruff voice.

Gabriel snapped, removing the mess. "Nope," he reassured as he went to make coffee for them. "Just getting in touch with some old friends I thought might be able to help with our situation. I see a lady about a canine companion tonight."

That made Dean halt mid-step. "That...that is very soon." He cleared his throat. "I guess we can go out and get stuff for it today. What do they even need—food, bowls, and...a bed? Oh my god, we're getting a dog. I'm gonna have to stock up on lint rollers." The hunter wiped his face with his hands.

"Calm down, Deano. Try not to croak at the domesticity," Gabriel chuckled. "And you don't need to go get anything. I'm not buying Sam a pet."

"What?" Dean's head shot up in confusion. "I thought..."

"We're taking in a _service companion_ —and only if I pass the interview with their keeper. I'm gonna be busy today making her libations." Gabriel left the coffee to brew and began pulling down bowls and ingredients. He had all the stuff to make the honey cakes and there was a barrel of spiced mead in one of his storehouses. All he needed was fresh fish, and that would be easy enough to procure.

"I can't have this conversation without coffee," Dean muttered, pouring a cup before the pot was finished brewing. "I feel like I'm missing something."

Gabriel sighed as he carefully started mixing the cake batter. He infused it with his grace to add power to the offering. "How much do you know about Hecate?"

Dean froze with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. "The Greek goddess?"

"Yup."

Dean's shoulders sagged and he drained half the mug, wincing at the temperature. "She isn't one to trifle with, if the lore is true. And I'm guessing it is if you're stressing this much. Isn't she the goddess of the crossroads? And, like, necromancy? Why exactly are we asking her for anything?"

"People have been sacrificing dogs to her for thousands of years," Gabriel started to explain, but was interrupted.

"Ew, man!" Dean shuddered. "What the hell? That is not—"

The archangel snapped his fingers and a fresh doughnut appeared in Dean's mouth. He pushed a plate across the counter that contained steaming leftovers to keep the hunter quiet so Gabriel could concentrate on talking and working without interruption.

"There. Be quiet." There wasn't time. The others would wake soon, and had less than twelve hours to be ready. "When humans sacrifice animals to a god or goddess, it sends the spirit to the deity. Some gods consume them, some collect them. And then there's Hecate."

Dean's eyebrows raised in curiosity, but he remained silent.

"She transforms them—or did, when people still sacrificed animals to her. She'd bring them back to life as something greater than before. Trained them as guardians—warriors bound to protect those whom Hecate deemed worthy. There was a time when she had entire armies at her command. But time and wars killed most of them. As Christianity spread, she was all but forgotten. No followers means no sacrifices, so she took the remaining few and retreated to one of her places _in between_." Gabriel transferred the batter into a bake pan. He breathed a blessing over the jar of honey and painted her symbols over the smooth batter surface. "Retirement has mellowed her out. Hopefully. But she's been known to perform favors for friends."

"Let me guess—you used to be one?" Dean asked around his mouthful of eggs.

"Besties, for sure!" Gabriel sung. Dean frowned at him. "Okay, maybe we weren't BFFs, but we knew each other. There's mutual respect there. She helped me with someone, and I helped her in exchange. Once I've plied her with my cooking and told her the story, I know she will help again."

"What else will it cost you?"

Gabriel looked up, startled by the seriousness he heard. "What?"

"A deal with Hecate sounds like it would involve something more than cake and a chat," Dean put his food down and leaned closer. "So what else will it cost you?"

Gabriel laughed, and was happy to see some of the tension ease out of the hunter. "Unlike my adorable little bro, I am _not_ a Winchester. No soul or grace deals. I'm not giving up a set of wings, or any other ridiculous image you've conjured in that empty cranium! Food and incense are traditional offerings. Besides, she loves mead more than blood, and I happen to have a barrel of her favorite. Trust me—I'm only offering what I'm willing to give."

Dean stared at him, then shrugged. "Whatever, man. Just don't do something stupid. I'm not explaining it to Sammy if it all goes wrong."

"I can promise you, Dean," Gabriel put down the honey and met the hunter's eyes, "that I will not do anything to jeopardize anyone, including myself."

Dean gazed back stonily. After a moment, he gave a slow nod of acceptance. "Good."

Gabriel got back to work. By the time the rest of his flock filtered into the kitchen, he'd been baking for two hours and made one time-hop to get the fish. Dean wouldn't have even noticed if not for the enormous basket that reappeared with him.

The others wrinkled their noses at the odd combination of smells, and Gabriel quickly shooed them all out of the kitchen. He shoved the picnic basket into Raphael's hands and ordered the Healer to take them all outside or to another room—anywhere that wasn't in the kitchen asking questions. Castiel grabbed Dean and dragged him along. Dad bless little brothers.

He worked tirelessly preparing the fish and arranging side platters of fruits and cheese. His brothers kept him updated through the hours, sending him images of Sam running through the yard with Dean close behind. There were a few close calls—noises from the woods or a shadow moving across the sun—that put the boy on edge. Gabriel forced himself to let the others handle it, even though he wanted nothing more than to help.

It made him work harder, knowing that _this_ was going to be a better long-term solution than whatever words of comfort he could think up. When five o'clock rolled around, he laid all the dishes over an ancient cloth. Gabriel sealed it in his grace, and the runes woven into the fabric glowed white.

With a gesture, he sent the whole spread into a special basket from Athens. The mead barrel was already shrunk to jar-sized and nestled inside. All he had to do now was deliver it.

Gabriel held the offering carefully and flew out of the bunker.

Traveling through the veil to the realm between worlds, he landed in a forest at the center of a three-way crossroads. Fireflies ignited a single path and he followed it toward the growing sound of howling. When he stepped into a clearing, he stopped with a gasp.

A cottage sat along the forest's edge, a half-built construct merging with a massive twisting yew. The fireflies swarmed through the branches, casting a greenish glow over the thatched roof. Fences formed large pens where dogs of all sizes either romped playfully or slept in piles.

The cottage door opened and Hecate stepped out, just as awe-inspiring as Gabriel remembered. She took the form of the Mother tonight, yet still radiated the beauty of the Maiden and the wisdom of the Crone. But the Mother held the power and magic of life.

"Hecate, I am honored you have granted me an audience." Gabriel let out a shaky breath and raised the basket in offering with a smirk. "I come bearing gifts."

"Loki." Hecate graced him with a grin, sharp and full of teeth. "It has been some time since I last saw you, my friend. Although, I hear it is 'Gabriel' now, yes?" Her head tilted, sending onyx curls cascading over her bare olive-skin.

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah. It's a long story."

"One I am sure I shall hear. One day." She reached out and took the basket. "But I believe you have a different story for me today. So, tell me, Gabriel—what could move an archangel to ask a favor of a lowly god?"

"I would never consider you a 'lowly' anything, Hecate." He bowed his head. "You are a goddess of judgment, protector of the innocent, and healer of children."

"Loki..." she warned.

"You know, I kinda had a crush on you back in the day," he continued with a wink.

Hecate blinked at him, then threw her head back and laughed with delight. The sound echoed through the clearing, and the dogs howled in answer. "It's good to see your return to grace has not dulled your humor."

"Pfft!" Gabriel rolled his eyes at the idea. "I was causing chaos in Heaven long before Dad formed the Earth. They'll probably only let me back for short supervised visits now."

"Come, join me for a meal and you can tell me your tale." Hecate led him around to the other side of the cabin where a large stone slab served as a table. She opened the basket and directed the rush of magic toward the stone. The food appeared laid out over the ancient cloth, just as Gabriel had planned. "Beautifully done. For an angel," she said with a look.

Gabriel snorted. "Ouch."

The goddess took her time piling her plate with a bit of everything he'd offered. Only when she took her place on a seat of oak and fur did Gabriel dare get any for himself. He knew tradition.

"Tell me about the child," she said, staring at him over her goblet of mead.

Gabriel filled his own goblet. He was going to need the alcohol way more than fish or cake for this story. "I'm not sure how up-to-date you are on Earth's current affairs, but two weeks ago today, the Darkness almost destroyed all of existence. It was saved by two humans—brothers."

Hecate gave a single nod. "I heard."

"Right, well, Dad ended up healing the younger one using His own grace. Then, He brought me back from the ether and I found myself in charge of a brand new fledgling." Gabriel took a drink. "Except he's not an infant angel with a young man's memories. He's Samuel Winchester."

"Oh." Hecate set her plate aside and held her cup out.

Gabriel rushed to refill it. "You know of him?" He tried to hide his trepidation—the Winchesters tended to inspire fairly strong opinions in others. Usually of the negative sort.

"As much as any other pagan. He came to my attention during your apocalypse," she said, deep in thought. "How long...?"

"Was he in the Cage having his soul shredded by Lucifer and Michael?" he finished the question for her. She nodded. "Our best guess is around two hundred years."

Hecate sucked in a breath. "Tell me what you are dealing with."

Gabriel sat in a low-hanging yew branch and collected his thoughts. "His grace is beginning to process through all the memories his human mind couldn't contain. Night terrors, flashbacks, trouble discerning reality, and grace outbursts are our daily norm. But we were attacked a few days ago by humans carrying a powerful weapon—strong enough to blast me and a seraph away so they could take Sam. Heaven has added protections and guards to our home, but..." He shut his eyes and calmed the rage that threatened to spill out. "The humans tortured Sam. Burnt him with holy fire that forced his wings to sprout way too early. And Sam doesn't trust angels on the whole, so healing was a battle. The past couple days have been...well, 'hard' doesn't really describe it."

Hecate stood and motioned for him to follow. "Describe Sam to me. Who is he, separate from his struggles?"

Gabriel laughed. "Sam Winchester—the boy forged in suffering?"

Hecate slapped his shoulder, and Gabriel stumbled. "What is he like? Is he quiet or loud? Is he a physical or mental creature?"

"Ah," Gabriel considered the questions. "Well, he's quite a walking contradiction. He can go hours without talking, and loses himself in research, but tends to explode when he feels threatened. Scary intelligent—he loves learning, but he can't shut off his brain. He's incredibly kind and gentle and self-sacrificing. And a sassy little shit when he wants to be."

"Sounds like someone I know," Hecate said with a knowing smile.

"You're not the first to say that," Gabriel huffed.

They walked past several pens, each a sprawling field that held about a dozen dogs. There were ponds and small shelters and firepits all tucked together with beds of flowers. The fireflies followed them until they stopped at a gate, then they danced along the bound branches that formed the fence.

"I want you to meet someone, but before you do, you must know something." Hecate turned to face him. "If he decides to go with you, I do not part with him lightly. He is the last of my first."

"Hecate..." Gabriel whispered breathlessly.

"You need someone capable of dealing with a powerful, out-of-control child who doesn't trust. There is only one among the pack who qualifies." She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled a series of notes. The howling fell silent. From the far corner of the pen, a tiny speck flew over the field toward them.

Gabriel squinted. Either the _between_ -dimension was messing with his ability to judge distance, or the bounding ball of fur was much smaller than he'd anticipated. _Scratch that,_ he thought as the creature grew closer. _Much much much smaller._

The speck turned out to be a piece of cotton with stubby legs and beady little eyes. It didn't slow down when it reached them. Gabriel stared as it darted under the fence to bounce full-force against Hecate's ankles and roll clumsily away.

"Morpheus!" Hecate frowned fondly. "One of these days, you are going to knock yourself out. And I can only hope I am present to witness your humiliation."

The pocket-sized piece of fluff let out a high-pitched 'yip' and rolled again, suddenly gaining mass and momentum. In a flurry of fur, it shifted and expanded, kicking up a cloud of dust. When it settled, Gabriel took a step back and fought the urge to draw his angel blade.

The puppy was _not a puppy!_ Laying flat on his belly, the canine's head stood at least four feet high. Fur flowed off the creature in long white waves. The face was shaped like a husky with a long round snout and bear-like ears. Curious blue eyes stared into Gabriel.

Hecate moved to stand next to the creature. "Morpheus, I want you to meet Gabriel. He's an old friend of mine. Gabriel, this is Morpheus."

 _Loki,_ a low voice rumbled in Gabriel's head.

Gabriel nodded, dumbfounded. "I...I used to go by that name, yes."

 _Gabriel_ , he sounded the name out slowly. _The archangel?_

"Yeah," Gabriel whispered, still nodding. He vaguely realized he looked ridiculous, but couldn't help it. This wasn't his first encounter with a magically enhanced giant dog, and he was caught in a tide of emotions. He couldn't afford the distraction of memories.

Morpheus stood and shook the dust off, sending tufts of fur swirling through the air. Gabriel coughed and took another step back. The canine's mouth fell open in a wide grin, his tongue lolling to the side. _How can I be of service?_

Hecate rescued him by answering. "Gabriel brought me a very special case. He cares for an angel child who is in crisis. The boy was human first, and his soul was nearly destroyed by other angels before their Creator healed him."

Morpheus sat down and swung his massive head to look at the goddess. _You wish for me to leave?_ he asked with a startled whine.

"Never," she reassured firmly. Her hands grabbed the fur framing his face and pressed their foreheads together. "I will never ask you to leave. This is your home, and I am your Mother. But I know you. You haven't had a pup—"

 _Fledgling,_ Morpheus interrupted.

Hecate continued without missing a beat. "—in over a century. You are wonderful with the babes here, but you are restless. I think you need an adventure."

 _An adventure with archangels?_ he chuffed, rolling his eyes toward Gabriel. _Are you any good at adventures, Gabrieloki?_

Gabriel grinned, meeting the canine's mischievous gaze. "You have no idea." He took slow steps forward. "Three days ago, I got blasted to a galaxy over one and a half million light years from Earth, pulverized a comet, and flew back with my awkward brother clinging to me like a koala bear. And that wasn't the craziest thing I experienced in the past two weeks."

Morpheus stood and closed the distance between them. His breath blew hot on Gabriel's face. _What was the craziest thing?_

"I came back from the dead and adopted some Winchesters."

Winter blue eyes narrowed, searching for any deceit. When none was found, Morpheus swung his head from side to side in disbelief. Suddenly, a giant tongue slurped along Gabriel's cheek. The archangel held still, keeping his eyes and mouth shut in case it returned. _Hmm...You are an interesting creature. I will hear your case._

Gabriel carefully opened one eye. Morpheus made a sound somewhere between a sneeze and a laugh. "Are you done licking me?"

 _Maybe._

"Oh, you'll fit right in!" Gabriel said, wiping his face with his jacket sleeve.

 _Hmm,_ Morpheus hummed. _Walk with me and tell me about your pack._

"We're a little group of outcasts." Gabriel fell into step next to the canine. He watched Hecate wave to them and set off toward her cabin. "There's an archangel, a seraph, a fledgling, and two humans. I know, it sounds like the set up to a bad bar joke."

They walked together slowly as Gabriel described the members of his eclectic family. The resurrected mother, the righteous man, the fallen angel, and the new grace-child. Morpheus listened without interruption until Gabriel was done explaining their recent circumstances surrounding the boy's kidnapping.

 _That is quite a tale,_ the canine said as he led them into an open field.

There were no fires nearby, and only the occasional green glowbug to light the area. Morpheus thumped his head against Gabriel's chest, knocking him on his ass. A paw pushed him all the way back into the grass where the sight of swirling stars overhead stole the archangel's unnecessary breath.

Morpheus flopped beside him and rolled to sprawl out on his own back. For a moment, they both just stared at the sky, getting lost in the vibrant colors. When the canine spoke again, his voice was soft. _What do you hope to find here?_

Gabriel felt earth magic soak into his wings, a familiar energy more primal than grace. Emotion burned in his throat, and he swallowed hard before he answered. "I'd hoped..."

 _No. Not past tense. What DO you hope to find here?_ Morpheus insisted.

"I hope to find help for Sam—a friend and confidant. Someone he can trust and feel safe around. We each play a different role, but Sam has no one who meets him on equal ground. We all see ourselves as mentors and parents to him. That counts double for his brother—Dean raised him when they were both babies." Gabriel gave an empty laugh, and traced constellations in the sky. "Sam may be older than his mother and brother's combined years, and he may even end up more powerful than me and Cassie. But he's only a little bigger than a toddler and his grace is even younger."

 _What else?_

Gabriel dropped his hand and sighed. "I want him to be happy. I want his pain to stop outweighing his joy. For him to learn that he doesn't always have to be suspicious of those who care about him—that not everyone demands a price for their love. And I want to burn his fucking 'Savior of the World' hat so he can stop trying to put it on and get himself killed."

 _And what do you want, Gabrieloki?_

"I..." Gabriel blinked as tears blurred the stars. "Nothing. I already have more than I ever dreamed possible. I have a flock who knows me, and accepts me anyway. I have a home where I freely exist as Gabriel without hiding Loki, and vice versa. My Father has even returned...kinda. There is nothing more I want for myself. I don't know what else there could be."

He heard Morpheus roll back onto his belly, and the blurry sky was replaced by a white fuzz. The face moved closer, and Gabriel shut his eyes again when he felt the broad tongue lap away his tears. A paw landed across his chest as Morpheus inched closer to reach the left cheek, methodically working his way up into the archangel's hairline. It was oddly soothing.

When he finished, Morpheus rested his head under Gabriel's chin. _I like you, and your offering was honest._

"Offering?" Gabriel said in a scratchy voice, slightly muffled in fur. "Did you steal a fish?"

Morpheus chuffed at him. _Not yet. But you gave me something different._

"What?" he felt a jolt of fear. What had he given?

 _The dream of an archangel._ Morpheus raised his head, grinning at the surprise on Gabriel's face. _I will return with you on a trial basis. If it does not work out, then I will help you find someone better suited. Hecate was right—I have missed being needed. You sound like adventure follows you. I've missed that too._

Gabriel threw his head back onto the grass and laughed. He laughed in relief and excitement, the stress of the last few days finally being replaced by hope. Fresh tears burned his skin, but Morpheus didn't take them. "Like I said, you have no idea. Do you know anything about fledglings?"

 _I know all pups—canine, human, god, and many other races. Children are children, regardless of power or form._ Morpheus stood and waited for Gabriel to join him.

The archangel rolled to his feet, brushing the dirt off his pants and hair. "I hope you're right. Sam is the first fledgling since before humanity existed. And no angel has ever been crafted from a human soul. We are officially in uncharted waters."

 _I welcome the challenge._

They made their way back to the cottage. Hecate stood in the doorway with a small wooden box in her hand. She smiled sadly as they approached. "I see you've come to an agreement."

"How...?" Gabriel asked, looking between the two pagan beings.

"He's smiles like a wolf on a hunt whenever he decides to leave. I have not seen that grin in a long time." She stepped in front of Morpheus. "I have a gift for you, old friend."

 _You do not normally give me gifts when I leave,_ he said, sitting back on his haunches.

Hecate nodded. "You have never gone to work with angels before."

She opened the wooden box to reveal a necklace of thin silver rope. A single key, carved from stone, acted as a pendent. Its long shank branched into a 'Y' within a circular bow. Three tiny sapphires sat where lines and circle touched. A single moonstone glowed milky-white from the center where the three points met.

Gabriel gasped—he knew that key. Morpheus apparently also recognized it. The canine stood and took a step back.

 _No, Hecate. I cannot take that,_ he growled.

"You will need it," she said simply, staring him down until he relented. He sat slowly and hung his head so she could reach. A low rumble emanated softly from his chest in discontent. "This opens the three realms of my crossroads—Earth, Hades, and Heaven. You do not want your charge going somewhere you cannot follow."

Hecate's hands swiftly tied the silver thread around his neck. The key glowed blinding white, then magically faded into Morpheus' fur. Her arms remained in place as she pulled him into a fierce embrace.

The canine shivered, then nuzzled into her hair. _I will visit._

"You better," she sniffed and stepped away, turning damp eyes on Gabriel. "And I expect to meet this boy who drove an archangel to my door with the best honey cakes I've ever tasted."

Gabriel gave a low bow in gratitude. "I'm sure that can be arranged. Sam would love it here." He straightened up with a grin. "He'd probably be torn between asking you questions like a good little hunter and running to play with a field full of puppies."

"He is welcome to do both," she said firmly, wrapping him in a hug as well. "You take care of him, understand?"

"I swear to you—he will be under my personal protection. And, by extension, the protection of Heaven."

"I don't care or trust Heaven, but I _am_ trusting you." Hecate leaned back and gave him a severe look.

 _I am standing right here, thank you,_ Morpheus interjected. He butted his head between them, pushing them apart. _And I have not required protection since I was a pup myself._

"I know, Morph," Hecate's expression softened. "But you'll always be a pup to me."

 _Go,_ he said, nudging her again. _Tonight is still young. You will have more offerings before dawn._

Hecate gave a watery laugh, and hugged him once more. "Don't have too much fun, you two."

Gabriel watched her walk away and slowly fade into the night. He turned to Morpheus, an eyebrow raised. "You ready to meet the fam, big guy?"

Morpheus nodded as he stood and gave a full-body shake. As the dust flew, he seemed to lose mass, condensing back down to the cotton ball Gabriel had first seen. He pranced over to the archangel's feet and climbed onto his shoe. _Well?_ he asked with a tiny yip.

"Well what?" Gabriel asked, careful not to move his feet and squash the piece of fuzz.

 _I'm not walking back to your dimension. Pick me up and fly us, angel-god._

A giggle escaped Gabriel as he picked the canine shifter. He weighed barely a pound, and most of it was fur. "This is pretty convenient. There's no way we could take you out in public when you're the size of a pony." He cradled the creature to his chest. "Do you have other forms?"

 _No. This was my form when I was sacrificed to Hecate as a young pup._ Morpheus sniffed at the archangel's shirt. _My larger form is who Mother made me._

Gabriel nodded. He'd received many blood sacrifices during his time as Loki, but he'd preferred offerings of service and intent. And food—food was his favorite.

He walked them back along the firefly-lit forest path. "So, Sam doesn't know you're coming. I explained to the others that you are not a pet, but Sam has no idea. He probably doesn't even remember Dean promising him a dog. It was all said in the midst of post-rescue chaos when Sammy was mostly unresponsive and in extreme pain."

 _Don't worry. I will introduce myself in this form first._

They reached the crossroads, and Gabriel felt the veil between realms grow thinner. He took a deep breath. "Ready?"

 _Always._

And they were gone.

* * *

When they landed, Morpheus decided that he _loved_ angel-travel. He almost asked to go again just to feel the rush of time and space twisting around him. Squirming in Gabriel's hands, he caught sight of old bricks and trees lit by the setting sun.

The area was soaked in magic, and smelled like a storm even though the sky was clear. His ears picked up the sounds of at least four other beings but he couldn't see them. Gabriel set him down gently and ruffled his fur. "They're out back. Raphael and Cassie know we're here."

 _Is Sam not suspicious of your absence?_ Morpheus asked, trotting alongside the archangel.

"Technically, I've been gone for less than a minute. Sam doesn't know I left." He stopped abruptly, and Morpheus looked up to catch a pained grimace. "He's gonna give me hell over time and dimension hopping. Let's try not mentioning it for now. Maybe he won't notice."

Morpheus frowned. _No lies or secrets._

"No, no, I don't mean..." Gabriel sighed and crouched down. "He's a worrier. In fact, he'll probably fuss after _you_ when you shift, worried you're wasting energy and making yourself vulnerable."

 _Well, that's just silly. Shifting builds energy. It is an action fed by god-magic, not my own stamina!_ He tilted his head, resisting the urge to howl in amusement.

"You try explaining that to him." The archangel rolled his eyes and stood up. "Come on. I want to see his face while it's still light out."

Morpheus followed closely as they walked around the corner of the building. He tried to stay hidden behind the sneakers while he took in the scene. Gabriel seemed to understand and kept his steps slow and measured.

It was easy to identify each person from Gabriel's descriptions. The other two angels were gathered around a fire, their wings and grace shining brighter than the flames. The mother stood with them, laughing as they watched her sons in the yard. The human brother ran to catch a fuzzy ball when he saw Gabriel. Smiling, he threw the ball over his shoulder and jogged toward them.

"Showtime," Gabriel whispered.

"Hey, I thought you were..." Green eyes went wide when they caught sight of Morpheus. "Umm, Gabe?"

"Yeah, Deano?" Gabriel stood with his arms crossed, relaxed and amused.

"What...how is...I don't..." the hunter sputtered eloquently.

Morpheus ignored him in favor of the other figure in the yard. Sam Winchester was indeed a unique child. A blend of grace and soul bound together in a clumsy little body. He watched the boy run to pick up the ball, yelling obscenities at his brother over his shoulder.

The canine grinned—this was his kind of kid. Darting around Gabriel and Dean, he sprinted across the yard with a bark. Sam's head whipped around, throwing him off balance, and he landed on his butt. The mother squealed something excitedly, but Morpheus didn't look away from his target.

As soon as he reached Sam, he made sure to 'trip' and tumble the rest of the way. He landed at the boy's feet and stared up into the confused face. A series of emotions flashed through hazel eyes, and Morpheus cataloged each one to memory. Excited energy left him practically vibrating in place as he waited for Sam to make the first move.

The boy stared at him as though he didn't trust his own eyes. Glancing around to the other people present, he must have received an encouraging signal because some of the tension transformed into wonder. "Hey there," Sam whispered, slowly holding a hand out for Morpheus to inspect. "Where did you come from?"

Sniffing the fingers, Morpheus got the strong scent of ozone with undertones of sweat and healthy earth. He licked over the knuckles, watching Sam's gaze dart between him and the odd pack-flock. A small smile graced the corner of the boy's mouth.

In his experience, all children were somewhat feral pups. They worked off instinct and body language more than words. Speech only worked if the child trusted the speaker. But honesty was a large part of trust, and he wouldn't pretend to be a 'normal' dog.

 _Hello, Sam._ He kept his voice quiet and closely watched for any signs of fear, wondering how much bite this pup had in him. Gabriel's warning about Sam's tendency to lash out when startled left the canine more curious than nervous. It pleased him when the hand retreated instead of attacking.

Morpheus didn't move when Sam gasped and crab-walked backwards a few steps. He heard the pagan-angel reassure the others by the fire, not letting them rush over. Good—this moment was about Sam.

Shapeless wings rose behind the boy in a clear display of alarm. Morpheus lowered his head and wiggled his butt. He couldn't help it in this form, and he knew the effect it had on most people. He believed in using every resource available, including the adorably disarming size factor.

"What?" Sam whispered, barely audible over the sound of his pulse.

 _I said 'hello.'_ Morpheus repeated, and rolled belly-up. The grass felt good here—different from his Mother's realm.

"Can...can you talk? Or am I just hearing you?" The boy stared at him, too stunned to blink.

 _Are those different things?_

Sam swallowed and looked toward the murmuring group by the fire, silently pleading for someone to help. "Yes. They're very different. Especially since you understand me enough to answer my questions."

 _Hmm,_ Morpheus mused. The boy _was_ intelligent. And pushy, even when unsure. _You are right. I can speak, although not everyone is capable of listening._

"Who are you?" Sam asked, shifting up to kneel a few inches closer. The stance would let him get to his feet quickly if he needed to run.

 _My name is Morpheus._

"And where...why...?" Sam frowned. Apparently, both brothers struggled with words when overwhelmed.

 _Gabriel said you needed a friend, and added protection in light of recent events._ Morpheus flipped back onto his belly and sniffed the air. The area was layered in heavy scents—creatures, wood smoke, foliage, and magic all competed for dominance. It would take time to sort through and familiarize himself with them all.

"Gabriel?" Sam sent a fierce scowl in the archangel's direction before his head snapped back to Morpheus. "Wait, protection? He wants _you_ to protect me?" His voice dripped with doubt.

 _I have two forms. My other one is much more impressive._

"You're a shapeshifter?" The boy said the word like it meant a very specific thing.

Morpheus tilted his head. _I am able to shift my shape, yes. But only between the two forms._

"Do you shed your skin when you change?"

 _I don't even shed my fur,_ he huffed. _I belong to Hecate's pack—my abilities come from her. I change size, not species, and have no human form._

"Right. Okay..." Sam sighed and looked again toward his family. "What are they doing?" he muttered under his breath, too low for human ears but plenty loud to a canine.

 _I asked that I be allowed to introduce myself,_ Morpheus answered. He ignored the glower he received and crawled closer.

"Why?" Sam snapped. His body tightened like a coil ready to spring.

 _Because you deserve to make decisions based on your own impressions—not because others talk you into it._ Morpheus paused, then yipped—a noise he knew sounded ridiculous. _And I'm a big boy who doesn't need a handler, thank you._

Sam let out a half-laugh, then slapped a hand over his mouth like he could force the sound back inside. After a second, his hand dropped to reveal a small smile. "You sure about that? Because you seem pretty small. And I haven't been able to say that about anything since Chuck shrunk me."

 _Don't worry—I'm sure._ He made it to Sam's knee, impressed that the boy remained visibly relaxed. The grace-soul below the surface sent a very different message. Violet light swirled through the body, occasionally giving off bright white sparks. The storm-smell grew heavier. _And I won't shift right now—not without telling you first._

"Why, because you'll scare me?" Sam bravely scoffed. He rested a hand on the knee in front of Morpheus, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to touch.

Morpheus bumped his nose against them, encouraging the boy to interact. He was rewarded with fingertips lightly running over his head. They played with the long fur, shaping it into pointed tufts.

 _Maybe. It made Gabriel step back when he first saw my other form._

The fingers paused, then slowly resumed exploring. "That is hard to picture. I've seen him stand against Lucifer twice, and he barely flinched."

 _Brothers have a way of making us too furious to fear._ He turned his head and licked the boy's wrist.

Sam's breath hitched and his pulse jumped, but he didn't pull away. "Tell me about it," he said, glancing at his own brother.

 _Also, I may have neglected to tell him I was shifting._ Morpheus kept licking further up the thin arm. He heard a light giggle and got his front paws up on Sam's knee, slowly climbing. Another burst of laughter greeted him when he reached the inside of the elbow. Goosebumps bloomed across the boy's skin and Morpheus stopped to look up. The smile he found made him wag his whole body.

"So," Sam said as he began petting in earnest, "Gabriel asked you to come here to be my friend and protect me? And you, what, just agreed?"

 _This is what I do—guide and protect children in need._ Morpheus cocked his head to the side. _Of course I agreed._

Sam frowned, but there was no anger in it. "I'm not really a kid."

Morpheus licked his elbow, eliciting a barely muffled squeal. _Everyone is a child to someone._

The sunlight was fading fast, taking any lingering warmth with it. Sam shivered, and Morpheus wondered why the pup only had on a t-shirt. Footsteps approached, and he twisted around to see Gabriel carrying a small sweater.

"Hey guys," the archangel said with a tentative smile. "It's getting kinda cold out here. You want to join us by the fire?"

Sam took the sweater and shoved it over his head. "Yeah, the fire sounds good. Dean's probably about to explode."

"That's putting it mildly," Gabriel shuddered. "I've got Cassie occupying him with soulful stares for now."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "How ever did you manage that?" he asked in a mocking monotone. Using both hands, he gently set Morpheus on the ground.

"Oh, you know." Gabriel wriggled his eyebrows. "I put them within a half-mile radius of each other."

"If he hears you, he's gonna stake you again. And when he does, you better not come crying to me because he ruined your favorite shirt," Sam lectured as he got to his feet.

Morpheus observed them, fascinated by the dynamics between the archangel and fledgling. They walked to where the others waited, sitting by the fire. Gabriel hadn't lied—the seraph and human's eyes were locked in an intense staring contest. The other two, however, had their gazes set on Morpheus.

The other archangel stared at him in open curiosity, but the mother looked like she might cry. "Oh my God, Gabriel! Look at him," she squealed, then shook her head and addressed Morpheus directly. "Look at you! The others said...but you are _not_ what I was picturing." A look of horror crossed her face. "And you can totally understand me, can't you? I'm sorry, that was so rude! I just...can't even stop rambling because if I stop talking then I might pick you up and kiss you. And that's probably incredibly taboo and reason to smite me..."

"Mary," Raphael rumbled calmly and laid a hand on her shoulder. His voice carried power.

"What, did everyone know about this except me?" Sam asked, looking at each of them. All he got back were grins and nods.

Morpheus padded up to Mary and head-butted her hand. She immediately began petting him, laughing brightly when he rolled and let her reach his belly. "Oh, you'd disarm anyone with that move," she told him with a wink.

 _I like your mother, Sam._ Morpheus said, knowing all the angels could hear him.

"What?" Mary asked when the others smiled.

Sam cleared his throat. "He says he likes you."

"Really?" she gasped and looked down at him. "Well, I like you too. And I think you're perfect!"

Morpheus yipped and rolled to his feet. He gave her hand a quick lick in thanks and went to check out the other archangel. Raphael stared down at him, nearly expressionless except for the spark of amusement in his eyes. _You are the Healer-angel?_

"I am," Raphael answered with a nod. "And you are one of Hecate's guardians."

It wasn't a question, so Morpheus didn't bother answering. Instead, he sniffed around the archangel. The scent of honeysuckle and pine and spices overwhelmed him, making him sneeze. The force of it knocked him over and he decided to pass on tasting the powerful being's vessel.

"So, when do we get to see him...you know...big?" Dean's gruff voice boomed over the fire..

Morpheus glanced at him and saw the barely restrained aggression that filled the man's green eyes. Grinning, the canine turned to Sam. _Would you like to see a re-enactment of Gabriel's reaction?_

"Hey!" Gabriel objected.

Sam stared at him for a second. Then, his mouth twisted, and he bit his lip to keep it still. "Kinda," he whispered nervously.

Morpheus jumped up and walked out into the yard a short distance. _Gabriel, do you mind standing with Sam?_

"Why?" Sam asked before Gabriel could answer, but the archangel was already moving to pick him up.

"Calm down, kiddo," Gabriel whispered in Sam's ear as he placed the boy on his hip. "Trust me—you want to be up here when you meet him."

"Meet him?" Sam whispered back furiously. "I thought I already met him!"

"Hey! What's going on!?" Dean got to his feet as the others began moving.

Morpheus looked at Sam and barked to get the boy's attention. _Remember Sam—I am only changing size._

Sam frowned, but stayed silent as he waited.

Morpheus shook his body, drawing on the magic given to him by the Mother. He felt himself expand, reborn in a rush of energy that burst from every molecule in his body. It was over in a blink.

He stood tall and waited for everyone to take in the change. The brother was predictable with his instant yell. The seraph held him in place, although his blue eyes flared bright with grace in alarm. Mary grabbed on to Raphael, but it was to keep herself steady. Raphael remained impassive, and seemed more intrigued by his companions' reactions than Morpheus' new form.

And then there was Sam. His hands clenched Gabriel's jacket in a death grip, but he stared at Morpheus in amazement. Fear fluttered through the boy's grace—a thrill of excitement more than terror.

Morpheus approached slowly, his eyes never leaving Sam. _Is this okay?_

Sam opened his mouth and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "You're never gonna fit in the car!" he croaked.

"He's not riding in Baby!" Dean shouted.

Morpheus gave his best wolfish grin. _Is your brother always a wild, frisky thing?_

Sam nodded.

 _Excellent._ Morpheus chuckled as he came to a stop directly in front of Gabriel and Sam. Lowering his head, he nuzzled one of the tiny fists. He felt the muscles tighten in a spasm before gradually relaxing enough to let go of the cloth.

Sam swallowed audibly, and reached his hand to touch the massive snout. Morpheus held still, letting the pup move at his own speed. The hand paused midair. "Do you like people petting you? I mean, since you're not..." Sam frowned. "You're not a pet. You're like a pagan demigod or warrior...hound? Is it rude?"

 _Rude?_ Morpheus asked, bewildered by the question. He understood hesitation rooted in nervousness or fear when dealing with a new charge. But Sam seemed wasn't showing the fear from earlier when he first heard Morpheus talk, and seemed genuinely concerned about propriety. _You are adorable, pup,_ he snorted.

Sam's frown deepened while Gabriel laughed. "I am not either of those things," he stated firmly.

"Cas, what's he saying?" Dean's voice sounded strained. "What's he saying to you, Sammy?!"

Sam turned to look at his brother who was red-faced and fighting the seraph's hold. "Dean!" the boy snapped. "I'm fine, okay? Chill before you hurt yourself, jerk."

"What's he saying to you, Sammy?" Dean repeated, although he stopped pulling.

Sam blushed. "Nothing, Dean..."

"He called him an adorable pup!" Gabriel called over his shoulder.

"Traitor," Sam muttered, yanking the archangel's wing.

Gabriel stumbled back a step until Raphael's hand steadied him. "Oh, you brat!" the shorter archangel declared with a laugh. "No more eye-level privileges for you."

"Wait, what?!" Sam's eyes went wide and he tried to hold on tighter as Gabriel bent to put him down.

"Nope. Have fun, ankle-biter," Gabriel said, peeling away Sam's hands and legs and depositing him onto a pile of pillows.

Morpheus stared down at the disheveled boy. _Adorable,_ he said, nuzzling his hair.

Sam batted at his head, clearly no longer concerned with rudeness. "Not. Adorable."

 _You keep telling yourself that._ Morpheus licked Sam's cheek, dragging his tongue across the baby-soft hair. It elicited a muffled scream behind tightly pressed lips. He repeated the action a few times until the curls bunched together in damp clumps. _Now, I am going to go reassure your brother that I do not plan on eating you._

"Why? Because I don't taste good?" Sam answered with a glower.

Morpheus looked at Dean and Castiel. The human no longer fought to get free, but his entire body radiated tension. He reminded the canine of a pack-sister from long ago—fiercely protective of the few she was close to and dangerous to any she considered a threat. He missed her terribly.

Castiel watched him with blazing blue eyes while whispering to the hunter, "Just stay calm, Dean. Gabriel wouldn't bring someone who meant us any harm. You know that."

Morpheus nodded at the angel. _It is true. Thank you, Castiel._

He looked to the human again. Dean shrugged off Castiel's hands and squared his shoulders. His gaze held a challenge, but he swallowed repeatedly as sweat dripped down his temples.

Morpheus' nose wrinkled at the sharp scent of gunpowder. It clung to the hunter like a burning cloud, tickling the canine's sinuses. He sneezed, loud and violent.

Dean leapt backwards and collided with the unphased angel. "Whoa!" he screamed, hands flying up to pat at his face and chest. "What did he say, Cas?! Oh God..."

"Bless you," Castiel said calmly, his eyes softening with humor.

 _Ugh, gunpowder makes my nose itch,_ Morpheus complained, shaking his head to clear the sensation.

"What?! Why would he say that?" Dean asked, throwing his hand toward Castiel blindly until he hit him.

"He didn't say it," Castiel said with an eye-roll. He stepped out from behind the hunter to stand next to Morpheus. "I said 'bless you' because he sneezed. And he sneezed because gunpowder irritates his nasal passages."

"He...he...what?" Dean froze mid-pat, but his words came faster. "He sneezed? You sneezed? You didn't, like, order my execution or curse my ancestors? You sure? Cas, is he sure?"

Castiel shot Dean a look that said 'shut up' in any language, then returned his attention to Morpheus. "It is an honor to meet you," he said in a voice deeper than expected.

Morpheus liked the way this angel smelled. They were each unique, but this one was more subtle. _And I, in turn, an honored. I have never had the chance to work with angels. Gabriel was actually the first I'd ever met._

"I hope he made a better impression than this one," he said, nodding at Dean.

"What?" Dean whispered in outrage. "You're supposed to be on my side, Cas. Remember?"

"I am literally by your side, Dean." Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh. "Morpheus, may I introduce Dean Winchester. He has what I believe the kids refer to as 'zero chill.'" The angel made a strange gesture with both hands. Morpheus didn't recognize what it meant, but he heard the others laughing.

 _I have never met a pack like yours._ Morpheus sniffed the angel's coat—it was saturated with the sweet smell of rain with tiny traces of the hunter's gunpowder. _Tell your human that I promise not to curse his bloodline, nor eat his brother. The pup is too stringy, and Dean smells terrible._

Castiel's eyes filled with panic as they darted toward Gabriel, seeking advice. The archangels was too busy choking on laughter and avoiding Sam's kicks to answer. Surprisingly, Raphael joined them with a soft, rolling chuckle.

"Someone care to elaborate?" Dean asked with forced civility.

Morpheus head-butted the seraph in the chest. _Just tell him before he shoots me._

Castiel cleared his throat. "He says that he promises not to curse your family or eat Sam."

"Oh, well," Dean nodded comically, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Good. That's good. Thanks, I think."

 _Thank you, Castiel. Even though you left out the best part._

Castiel jumped when Morpheus suddenly licked his forehead. "You are welcome."

Morpheus heard an odd noise, and turned to see Sam yawning. He took three strides and flopped next to the boy. In the firelight, he saw the dark circles framing hazel eyes. _When did you last sleep, pup?_

"Not a pup," Sam mumbled, blinking slowly.

 _When did you last sleep?_ Morpheus repeated.

"I slept all night last night," he answered. His voice was exhausted, and twinged with frustration.

Morpheus looked at Gabriel for confirmation. The archangel nodded. "True, but your sleep has been interrupted a lot lately, and you also had an extreme amount of healing done a couple of days ago."

 _Come on,_ he said, nudging Sam to his feet. _You can show me your home in the morning._

"But we don't even have a bed or anything for you." Sam scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand and leaned against the canine's side. "Where will you sleep?"

Morpheus huffed a laugh. _Wherever I want,_ he said honestly. He always slept near the children he protected, and he wasn't planning on changing that routine now. _Would you like one of us to carry you?_

Sam's back straightened instantly, and he pushed away from Morpheus. "No, thank you!" He blushed and trudged toward the house.

Morpheus followed, not waiting on the others. He heard Castiel relay their conversation to the hunter, and Dean sputter his objection to dogs in beds. Gabriel's steps caught up with them.

"Man, you gotta sneeze on Dean more often. That shit's never gonna get old!" The archangel moved to walk on Sam's other side, keeping the boy between them.

 _I will keep that in mind._ Morpheus grinned, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. _If he always smells like he's rolled in gunpowder, then it won't be hard._

They entered the home and Morpheus shivered. If the outside yard was saturated in magic, then this was the pool from which it came. He would have to make time to inspect every nook and cranny—he already sensed numerous dangers and cursed objects.

Gabriel walked down the steps in front of Sam. The boy was asleep on his feet, but refused to be carried. Morpheus descended the stairs, careful to not catch a claw on the odd grate floor. He heard quiet bickering as Dean and Castiel came through the door, Mary and Raphael right behind.

They led him to a large bedroom with multiple beds and seating. Everyone entered together, quickly filling the room. Morpheus was surprised—he hadn't realized that humans and angels slept like a pack.

The humans left to change into sleep clothes, and Castiel went to help Sam do the same. Gabriel and Raphael began to arrange the bedding. Morpheus shifted back down to his smaller size and ran to explore as much of the room as possible before everyone returned.

"How are you doing, Morpheus?" Gabriel asked softly. "Everything okay so far?"

Morpheus yipped from underneath a sofa. _I am enjoying myself. Your family is quite interesting._ He ran along the floorboards, covering the room's perimeter. _And I believe I can help Sam._

"You were very good with him," Raphael said. "He does not easily trust."

 _I've noticed. But that's okay—I can out-stubborn any child. I have over two thousand years' experience doing just that._

"I fear you'll need every second of that experience," the Healer-angel mused.

One-by-one, the others returned. Dean jumped onto the large bed in the middle of the room. Mary came in carrying a book and sat on the sofa. Ten minutes later, Sam shuffled in with Castiel closely following.

Sam climbed up onto the bed beside his brother, scooting into the center to leave room for a third. Castiel stood awkwardly until the boy patted the empty space. Instead of laying down, the angel kicked off his shoes and sat against the headboard. Raphael settled into a chair next to Mary, content to quietly meditate.

Before laying down, Sam looked around the room until his eyes settled on Morpheus by the door. "Where will you sleep?" he asked.

Morpheus sprinted and jumped, easily clearing the edge of the mattress. He took pleasure in the way Sam and Castiel's mouths both dropped open. Most people didn't think he was capable of much in this form and it was always a pleasure to correct that perception.

"Oh, hells no!" Dean propped himself up on an elbow and scowled at him.

Morpheus deliberately pranced closer to Sam and sat by his legs, never taking his eyes off Dean.

"No," Dean insisted, and started to sit up.

Morpheus bared his teeth and growled, a high trilling sound. _Somebody please explain to Dean that I can sleep on this bed in this form, or I can shift. Those are his options._

Instead, Sam punched his brother in the shoulder. "Quit being a cranky old guy, asshole. Lay down and go to sleep."

Dean stared at his brother. Morpheus watched, fascinated, as an entire silent conversation seemed to play out between them. Eventually, Dean just nodded and buried his face in the pillow with a groan.

Sam gave Morpheus a shy smile and lightly scratched behind his ears. Morpheus licked the fingers and waited for the pup to lay down. Only then did he curl up in the crook of Sam's knees. He drifted to sleep listening to the angels whispering in their silent way to one another. Just before his consciousness slipped away, he sent a prayer of gratitude to his Mother for sending him on this new path. And then, he dreamed of adventures

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
**

Thus concludes the "After the Storm" arc of this story! Ya'll, it was sooo much longer than expected.  
Don't worry, though-this story is far from over. Who wants to know what's going on in Heaven these days? ;)

So, what did you think? TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS-I WANTS THEM PRECIOUS!  
And come be my friend on Tumblr...same name and icon: TheRiverScribe

Be loving and kind, my darlings!


	27. Heaven Waits For You pt1

**HEAVEN WAITS FOR YOU**  
 **PART 1: Heaven's Prodigal Son**

 **NOTE: This arc picks up with Michael's exit in "The Valley of the Shadow."**

* * *

Michael flew from the Earth, barely managing to contain his wrath until he was out of range of the fledgling. The two humans trailed behind him, wrapped in the protection of his grace. Not that they deserved it. He was sorely tempted to let them go and watch their miserable souls burn in the planet's atmosphere, but he wanted answers first. They would burn enough later.

Space and time folded around him with each fiery wing beat, and in less than a human-heartbeat he was there. Heaven—the one place he thought he'd never see again. The only place he ever wanted to be. _Home._

The Host sang in his mind, praising the return of three archangels. Their chorus blended with frantic questions concerning the explosion of grace that had shaken the foundation of Heaven, and the unmistakable cry of a fledgling. So many voices creating a cacophony of sound, and yet he heard the gaps where many were now missing.

Michael landed inside Heaven's main hall—an enormous gathering space from which all other hallways branched. 'The Heart of Heaven,' some called it, or 'Heart Hall' for short. A glorious cavern crafted by the Head Architect from grace and stars, it could expand to hold infinite numbers of angels. Countless eternities had been spent in this space, singing and grooming and just existing together.

Heart Hall teemed with rough-looking seraphs huddling in clusters. They had been assembling teams to investigate before Michael intercepted them. He hadn't realized the ragged group barely capable of flight were the healthiest of the Host.

Michael let the unconscious humans fall to the ground as he stared, his mind temporarily stunned in horror. Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of wars. Battles the Host fought while he'd been trapped in the cage had left scars on everyone.

Raphael had described some of it during their time with the Father, but not to this extent. He wondered how many siblings were lost after the Healer's demise. Why had none of the other healers tended to anyone? Most of the angels he saw had burned, mangled wings incapable of flight. And even more shocking was the fact that almost every single angel had a vessel.

Michael ran out of time for contemplation when a hush fell over the hall. One-by-one, seraphs turned toward him. He felt their brokenness as his own. " **Hello, brothers and sisters.** " His voice carried easily through the room. No one moved.

The silence continued until a figure broke through the crowd. He recognized his sister, Sariel—Heaven's top warrior and Michael's personal guard. He'd not seen her since he left to battle Lucifer.

" **Commander?** " she said in awe.

Michael smiled, pulling her in for an embrace. " **Sariel, it is good to see you again.** " He felt the scars on her grace where old injuries had never healed properly. If Heaven's best was in so bad a shape, then what chance did the others have of being any better?

" **How...just how?** " she asked, disbelief marring her joy.

" **It is a long story,** " he sighed. Looking across the sea of faces, Michael addressed them all. " **I must apologize—to all of you. The last time I stood here, I demanded obedience and in the same breath I ordered destruction. I was wrong. I forgot my purpose, and the purpose of Heaven, in the absence of our Father. And in turn, He lost faith in us.** "

Murmurs and gasps rolled through the hall. They were all lost children, and had been for a long time. Michael saw that now.

" **But we have been given a second chance.** _ **I**_ **have been given a second chance. Our Father pulled me from the Cage. He gave me back my purpose, and showed me His plan for us. We have a lot of work to do before we can fulfill that purpose, and it all starts now.** " That turned some heads as hope sparked in the midst of despair. " **I want all healers to report to me immediately. Same goes for any seraphs who have been serving as leaders in my absence. I need reports on everything that has transpired since the apocalypse. Once I am up-to-date, we can begin work on fixing Heaven, and our family.** "

Seraphs began breaking off from their groups as the healers made their way toward Michael. His grace ached when he saw how few remained among their ranks. Raphael would be devastated.

" **Sariel,** " he said quietly. " **I must ask two things from you. First, I need you and at least two others for a special mission.** "

" **Of course, sir!** " Sariel's eyes lit up. " **What will we be doing?** "

Michael smiled at her eagerness. " **The cry you heard earlier? It came from a new fledgling.** "

Sariel gasped and looked behind him like the child might be hiding. She frowned at the slumped bodies. " **Where is he? Why is he not with you?** "

" **He is safe for the moment. Gabriel and Raphael have him.** " Michael gazed around them at the broken structures and angels. " **Heaven cannot nurture a fledgling in its current state. Especially not this one.** "

" **What do you mean, sir?** "

Michael sighed and drew her closer, away from the approaching healers and curious ears. " **It is Samuel Winchester,** " he explained in a whisper. " **Father healed the boy's soul with His own grace.** "

Sariel stared at him, blinking almond-shaped eyes slowly in shock. " **I...I see how moving him to Heaven could be problematic. We do not have a good history with the Winchesters—especially the younger one.** " Her quick appraisal of the situation made Michael want to hug her again.

" **Yes. And some of us...** _ **I**_ **have personally hurt him in ways that are unforgivable. I cannot ask him, nor force him, to come here. Nevermind the fact that Heaven is crumbling and our caretakers have all been reduced to soldiers. We are not capable of handling this child at present.** "

" **What can I do?** " she asked, agreeing with his assessment.

" **Gabriel has formed a flock on Earth,** " he said with equal parts fondness and longing. " **They are an odd mix of angels and humans, but fiercely protective of each other. I would not have them separated for any reason.** "

" **'Angels' plural?** " Sariel's mouth dropped open in realization. " **You mean Castiel? The traitor Castiel is caring for our newest sibling? Is that wise, sir?** "

Michael rested a calming hand on her shoulder, using his grace to soothe her rising agitation. " **Yes, I mean Castiel. I understand that his devotion to the Winchesters has often led him down a troublesome path. He has made many mistakes. So have I. But now is not the time for judgment or vengeance. We have all been given a second chance, and it shall be used for reconciliation. Castiel has the Winchesters' trust, and I have seen him interact with Samuel. To separate them would only lead to more fighting and death.** "

" **I...I understand.** " Sariel shook her head—she understood, but it was still hard to believe. Michael felt the same way. She squared her shoulders, and repeated, " **What can I do?** "

" **I need a team to guard Gabriel's nest. A group of humans managed to get their hands on some of Heaven's most powerful weapons. We will be taking steps to eliminate the threat they pose very soon, but I want this flock protected in the meantime. No one is to approach their nest unless cleared by you or Gabriel.** "

" **What weapons do they have?** "

" **I am unsure what items they still possess. We recovered a few.** " He handed her the Olive branch. " **This is one—a holy relic from the Sisters' Olive trees. And I believe Raphael has just recovered a Tear of God.** "

Sariel almost dropped the branch in horror. " **A Tear? A Tear was taken by humans? Did they know how to use it?** "

Michael nodded. " **Please, secure this in our weapon's store. And gather the other seraphs you think best suited for the mission. I wish to see them before you leave. Hurry—time is of the essence. And be discreet—I will announce the fledgling's identity once I am assured the Host will not react poorly. Until then, not a word to anyone.** "

" **I understand, sir. What was the second thing?** "

Michael made a face of disgust as he gestured at the humans. " **Take them to a cell. I will interrogate them as soon as I can. Place them under our most trusted guards. I want the humans alive no matter what the jailers hear them say.** "

Sariel saluted without question and took off through the crowd.

Michael turned to the small group of healers who stood nervously nearby. Their own grace shone dimly from lack of self-maintenance. Sighing, he waved them forward.

" **How can we be of service, sir?** " asked Remiel. Michael didn't remember her being so timid.

" **Is this...all of you?** " he asked, trying to keep the devastation from his voice.

Remiel gave a single stilted nod. " **We lost most of our numbers when we fell to Earth. Some of us managed to find vessels, but even then we faced numerous threats. I fear we have failed as healers. Our grace never recovered from the fall—many angels have suffered and died because of it.** "

Michael saw the others hang their heads, unable to look at him. He had never seen such defeat among his siblings. " **No one has failed more than I,** " he assured them. " **How would you like to help me restore Heaven to its rightful state? Hmm?** "

Several heads popped back up. Remiel took a shuffling step back. " **You** _ **want**_ **our help?** "

" **Of course,** " Michael said, bewildered by their response. " **Why else...** " But he saw it now—the way they all were bracing, huddled together for support and some amount of safety. " **You thought I called you here for punishment.** "

" **We failed...** " One of the other angels started to say, but Michael cut them off.

" **If our Father has enough mercy to cover my sins, then how could there not be enough for the Host?** " he asked. Michael knew his own failures far outweighed those of his younger siblings. His leadership had led them all down this path, misguided and driven by the desire to see the world end. " **I was not brought back to punish those I led astray. God has set me on the correct path once again, and shared with me His vision of things to come. We are no longer operating in the dark.** "

" **And we are really going to restore Heaven?** " Remiel asked, daring to look hopeful. It hurt to think that hope would require so much bravery for beings made of grace.

" **That is the plan, little sister,** " Michael said gently. " **Tell me—how fares the Garden?** "

" **The Garden? It is fine, sir.** "

" **Then walk with me. Can anyone give me a general report about the state of the Host?** "

Remiel stepped forward to walk alongside Michael. He staggered against a wall, too weak to hold his vessel upright as she listed their losses. _So many!_ He wanted to race back to their Father, make Him return this very moment to personally oversee His children. How could Michael handle the magnitude of Heaven's brokenness alone?

" **Sir?** " she asked, worried at his reaction. " **Are you alright?** "

" **No,** " he whispered, pushing himself upright and wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. Damn this connection to his vessel! " **How is Heaven even functioning right now?** "

" **It...** " Remiel glanced at the other healers. " **We are** _ **not**_ **functioning. Not currently. Not for a long time.** "

" **I set you on this road to ruin long before the Apocalypse. This burden is not on your shoulders.** " He tried to be reassuring through his own grief.

Before they could continue, Sariel returned with two seraphs. " **Commander,** " she said, coming to attention with a salute. He returned it with a smile, reminded that not all was lost. " **I completed the task you ordered, and have put together a team.** "

Michael looked at the other two. Sariel's choices surprised him. Of course, once he considered the seraphs' past specialties, he found them to be potentially perfect fits.

Nuriel was a fierce warrior known for her kindness. Her vessel suited her—strength hid behind soft, round curves. She had once been Head Caretaker in Heaven's nursery, back when there were still fledglings. And when the last of the angel children were fully grown, she'd assimilated into a garrison. Her experience with fledglings would be a great asset.

Zadkiel stood next to her in a scrawny, pale vessel. A shock of bright red curls sat atop his head, and barely old enough to grow whiskers on his chin. The angel was a competent fighter when challenged, but his jurisdiction was mercy and compassion. Most of his life had been spent as a virtual office worker, sorting through incoming prayers and assigning them as needed.

" **Nuriel. Zadkiel.** " Michael gave each a smile as he said their names. " **Please, join us. I will see you healed enough for flight before you leave. I am sure Raphael will finish my work as soon as he gets a look at you.** " He led them through through the halls of Heaven, his grace shifting the paths ahead toward the Garden. He listened to the angels' ruffled wings and low whispers. No one was accustomed to hearing the Commander speak with humor—including Michael himself.

" **So it is true?** " Remiel asked in a small voice. " **The Healer will be returning as well, sir?** "

" **It is true,** " he confirmed, warming at the thought. " **Raphael and Gabriel have both been resurrected, and restored to their respective places as our Father's Healer and Messenger. As I said—Heaven has a purpose again, and Father wants to make sure we have the leadership to see it through.** "

They entered the Garden. It sat at the center of Heaven. Michael remembered when the Garden held all of existence—long before the creation of seraphs and planets and souls. He took a deep breath, smelling the combination of rich vegetation and spiced earth. It smelled like home.

Joshua sat against the tallest oak tree, not bothering to open his eyes as they approached. " **It is about time you got here, Michael.** "

Michael paused, tilting his head. The Keeper of the Garden never failed to intrigue him. " **You were expecting me?** "

" **I knew of your coming for a long while now,** " Joshua opened one eye and smirked, wrinkles growing prominent along his ancient face. " **Shame on you for making me wait.** "

" **My apologies,** " Michael said, returning the smirk even as he heard the seraphs nervously whispering among themselves again. Most were probably to young to realize that Joshua was one of the first seraphs—almost as old as the archangels. " **You may have noticed that I am a late bloomer in many ways.** "

" **Better late than never. Some flowers need extra seasons to show their true colors.** "

Michael's smile wavered, emotion clawing at his vessel's throat in a way he still disliked. " **How do you decide if too many seasons have passed? When do you give up on a plant that does not show signs of thriving?** "

" **When they die and provide more earth for the next generation of seedlings.** " Joshua said, slowly getting to his feet. " **But in this Garden, anything is possible. Life never ends—it transforms.** "

" **Good,** " Michael said, pulling the old seraph's thin vessel in close. " **We have need of transformation today.** "

Joshua stepped back and looked over the group standing slightly away from the archangel. " **Why do they all look like they expect you to smite them?** "

" **I am not entirely sure. They get very nervous whenever I smile. Do you think I am doing it wrong?** " Right on cue, he heard more wing shuffling from behind.

Joshua chuckled. " **Maybe it is the shock of seeing their Commander smile at all. The archangel I see before me is not the one I remember. I imagine it is quite disconcerting for those who never knew you capable of smiling in the first place.** "

" **Oh.** " Michael hadn't realized the change he felt was so noticeable to those around him. He _felt_ different—lighter, freed from the driving desire for destruction and unburdened by the insanity of the Cage. But was he so different that a simple smile was enough to cause this level of disquiet?

His confusion must have shown on his face because Joshua chuckled. " **Smiling looks good on you, Michael. Just give them time. There has not been a lot of smiling in Heaven lately.** "

" **Then I shall endeavor to reassure everyone that my smiling is not a sign of the end times. In the interim, I am in need of a place to heal this lot.** " Michael swept his hand toward the healers and Sariel's team.

" **Been in Heaven for five minutes and already getting to work,** " Joshua sounded exasperated but his eyes shone with approval. " **At least you had the good sense to come here. The Garden is more conducive to healing than a crumbling hallway.** " He led them to the giant oak and encouraged them to sit.

Remiel was the healthiest looking of the healers. Michael figured the best strategy would be to start with those who needed the least work so they could join him in working on those next in line. He sat next to her, explaining to them his plan, and began to work.

Michael's grace flowed strong through the little healer, quickly adjusting her levels and healing old wounds. He didn't have the finesse or skills of Raphael, but he made up for it with power and speed gained through field experience. His brother could fine-tune everyone later. There was time.

Remiel tensed when he started, and Michael had to remind himself to be gentle. They were no longer on a battlefield. Healers were the most sensitive to others' grace, and none had stronger, more potent energies, than the archangels. He tried to not burn through her already-painful injuries.

When he finished with her, Michael moved on to Sariel while Remiel began work on another healer. The guard he was sending to patrol Gabriel's flock had to be in peak condition—including their wings. He hated doing delicate procedures.

Joshua mingled with them, occasionally commenting on their techniques. Mostly, he hummed to the seraphs and flowers. It made it easy for everyone to fall into a rhythm of calm healing. Michael greatly appreciated it.

Time ran slowest in the Garden, allowing them to rush less. He didn't want to send anyone out on a mission of such importance with badly healed and useless wings. But he kept track of time passing outside the center of Heaven—the guard needed to be in place on Earth before the fledgling returned to his home.

As each healer was restored, they joined Michael in grooming the chosen guard. His domino-strategy worked, and soon all three members of Sariel's team was under the intense healing of multiple full-powered seraphs. The entire Garden glowed with blazing grace and wings.

The healers practically bounced with excitement. Their joy and pride reverberated through the whole body of the Host. Songs from Heart Hall flowed through their minds as the rest of Heaven sought to lend their energy and enthusiasm.

Michael shivered at the onslaught of emotions. While time spent with his Father had buffered the isolation of the Cage, it hadn't erased it. To be this connected again to the Host was fantastically overwhelming. He would willingly drown in it if it meant never being cut off again.

When the last guard member was fully healed, they all stood. Michael looked at them with satisfaction. " **Thank you all. This is an excellent beginning.** " He bowed his head low in appreciation to the fluster of the seraphs. " **I must meet with others, and get more work started. For now, I need you to begin triage and healing on the rest of the Host. I would like to have at least one full garrison ready and able to fly and fight if needed. Beyond that, prioritize as you see fit. If you find more healers, or those with potential as healers, please bring them into this effort. Our work has only begun.** "

He watched the healers sprint from the Garden, eager to use their renewed grace on their siblings. Grinning, Michael turned to Sariel, Nuriel, and Zadkiel. All three stood at attention, rejuvenated and full of purpose.

" **Thank you, sir,** " Sariel sounded breathless, stretching her wings in wonder before focusing.

Michael shook his head, not wanting her gratitude. " **It is the least I could do—and we are only getting started. I imagine Raphael will be less than thrilled with my efforts, although he will be pleased to see his healers are still capable and willing.** "

" **What did you need us to do?** " Nuriel asked, glancing at the other team members in curiosity. " **No offense, but we are an odd choice for a special mission.** "

Michael chuckled, and was pleased when none of the team acted put off by it. Good—they needed to be open to laughing archangels if they were to work around Gabriel. " **I remember you, Nuriel. You were one of our finest caretakers, and became an excellent soldier. Zadkiel—your compassion and mercy will serve you well, as I believe you will need an abundance of both. And there has been no greater warrior among the seraphs in all the ages than you, Sariel. You are perfect choices. I am sending you to guard the new fledgling and his flock on Earth.** "

" **Fledgling!?** " Nuriel gasped. " **On Earth? But why, sir?** "

" **All in good time, sister. If you three will follow me,** " Michael said, leading them out of the Garden. He sent a mental word to Raphael, asking for an update. It took a few seconds for the Healer to reply.

 _We have just left this...place._ The disgust was clear in Raphael's voice. _Gabriel informs me we shall reach their home in approximately three hours. Apparently, they live in something called a 'bunker.'_

 _A bunker?_ Michael asked, confused. _I know what a bunkers are, and they are not usually homes._

 _That was my thought as well. But he assured me it was adequate for raising a fledgling that started life as a Winchester._ He paused, and Michael waited, knowing there was more. _I will let you know if I find the location to be otherwise._

 _Thank you, Raphael._ Michael had no doubts that his brother would make known his opinion. _Do you have the destination coordinates? I am sending the guard down to be in place for when you arrive._

Raphael sent him the location—a combination of images, mathematics, and emotions. Michael thanked him and wished him luck on their journey. He looked forward to seeing his brother be able to return to Heaven again soon. He hoped it was soon, anyway. Life with Gabriel and the Winchesters was bound to be unpredictable.

Michael led the team back to Heart Hall. It was as good a place as any for him to begin a more thorough evaluation of Heaven's needs. " **I am sending you down now. Gabriel and Raphael will be with them when they arrive.** " He smiled, remembering his exchange with 'Righteous Man' Dean Winchester. " **Also, it is important that you allow Gabriel to control your interaction with the rest of his flock. I have already been informed by one of the human members that extra protection from Heaven is not necessary nor welcome, but will be tolerated as long as you remain unseen.** "

Shock rippled through all three of them. The idea of a human dictating demands to the Commander of Heaven was inconceivable. Michael following those directions was probably even harder to believe.

" **Do not worry,** " he reassured them. " **You will understand when you get there. Now, I must ask that this is treated with the utmost discretion. Sariel knows a little more, and I promise you will soon learn the rest of the details.** "

Nuriel and Zadkiel both nodded, their faces serious though Michael could feel their curiosity. Sariel placed a hand on each seraph's shoulder. " **I picked them for many reasons, Commander. Their trustworthiness is one.** "

" **Excellent, Sariel.** " Michael smiled, and mentally sent her the location provided by Raphael. She gave a nod to show she understood. " **Go now, you three. And good luck.** "

He watched them fly out of the hall to the cheers of the surrounding seraphs. The noise startled him, but he realized it must have been some time since they'd last witnessed an angel in flight. Which led him to wonder how exactly the angels had been moving between Heaven and Earth without the use of their wings.

Walking around Heart Hall, Michael quickly found exactly what he was looking for—or more specifically, _who._ A small cluster of seraphs stood in a close huddle. Each shuffled a large stack of papers, intensely passing pages and making more notes as they conversed in a whisper.

" **Are those for me?** " he asked, almost afraid to interrupt.

All four jumped back, and turned to face him. One actually dropped his armful of papers and Michael watched as they fluttered slowly to the ground. " **My apologies, sir!** " the seraph's voice cracked as he threw himself to the ground to gather the pages into a pile.

Michael knelt down next to him and gently patted his shoulder before helping collect the notes. " **Peace, brother. I know my return is a shock, but you have nothing to fear from me. You are Puriel, correct? The Soul Inspector?** "

" **Yes, sir!** " Puriel said breathlessly.

" **I imagine your job has not been an easy one over recent years.** " Michael handed the papers to Puriel as they returned to standing.

" **No. Not easy at all, sir.** "

Michael looked at all four angels. They were Heaven's record keepers, known for their quiet natures and attention to detail. But they were not leaders. " **Are you the ones tasked with updating me on the status of the Host and Heaven?** " he asked, head tilted in confusion. Where were the garrison heads? He'd expected generals, not secretaries.

" **You asked for us, did you not?** " asked an angel in a tall, female vessel. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Michael remembered her administration skills were unparalleled.

" **Ingrid,** " he said warmly. She raised an eyebrow as her only outward reaction. " **I admit—I was expecting more military leaders.** "

" **Our garrisons are in disarray,** " Ingrid waved off his assumption. There was a time her dismissal would have angered Michael. Now, it just intrigued him. " **As you will see from our reports, the military has dwindled. Those who remain used to be unit leaders who lost most of their members. Survivors are not entirely organized, although there has been movement to unite the forces.** "

Michael's smile fell away as he was handed a thick stack of papers. It was a list full of names. His vision blurred by the third page. As happened earlier, he felt his knees weaken and the mighty Commander stumbled to sit on a fallen pillar. The Hall faded around him until the only thing he could see was the unending list of names.

By the time he reached the tenth page, he was openly weeping. He couldn't even see the pages anymore. They crumpled in his fist as he covered his face.

The silence of the Hall made Michael's sobs echo deafeningly. He didn't know how long he sat there, openly mourning, and it didn't matter. It would never be long enough.

Eventually, Michael's tears slowed and he became aware of the stillness around him. He smoothed out the papers as best he could, not realizing he'd soaked several sheets. These names were sacred—each one was a sibling he had personally failed. They deserved better.

Wiping his face, Michael stood shakily and motioned for the four administrators to follow him. Ingrid no longer looked dismissive—her own vessel was pale and glassy-eyed as well. In fact, many angels whom Michael thought incapable of emotion were wiping tears from their borrowed faces.

Michael cleared his burning throat. " **I have the healers working on any soldiers they can get their grace on. Once we have an established, fully-functional garrison, we can begin to restore every angel's wings.** " The admins nodded, still too stunned by his breakdown. " **Do any of you have a report on the structural state of Heaven? And please tell me some of our Architects survived.** "

The two angels who had been silent thus far stepped forward. " **I am Charmeine, Commander,** " said the angel wearing a short woman with wide, round hips that she used to nudge the others out of her way. " **I was a Gardener under Joshua until Metatron threw us all to Earth. The Architects recruited Neil and I when we returned to Heaven. Now, we are the only ones left. The rest were killed a few months ago by Amara.** "

" **Do you like it?** " Michael asked with honest curiosity.

" **Love it!** " Neil replied enthusiastically, his messy curls flopping over his forehead as he nodded. " **They recruited me after I was able to hack into our 'radio' system. It allowed Metatron to silence the Host and address them without interference.** " He froze in his excitement, a worried expression replacing his grin. " **Um, I stopped following the Scribe once I realized his true intentions. I supported him when I believed his goal was to unite the angels.** "

Michael's eyes went wide. " **You figured out how to control our communications? No wonder the Architects recruited you. And Charmeine—a Gardener's experience provides an excellent foundation for your new role. Both require intimate knowledge of how to use grace as a structural component.** "

The seraphs slowly blinked, processing his praise. Then, they smiled. " **I told you he would be impressed!** " Charmeine whispered to Neil.

Michael shook his head, thinking of Gabriel. It was the kind of scandalous prank the youngest archangel would have tried. Luckily, the Messenger had never considered the possibility.

" **Do me a favor, Neil?** " Michael said in a low voice. The floppy-haired angel nodded again, sending his curls flying. " **Please refrain from telling Gabriel about your prior experience with our communications. I fear what he may do with such knowledge.** "

Neil's eyes lit up at the idea—clearly flattered that he shared a mischievous streak with an archangel. He visibly tried to tamper down his reaction by gulping, schooling his face, and nodding seriously. But Michael knew he'd have to keep an eye on this one. Especially once Gabriel began visiting.

Charmeine and Neil led them through Heaven, shifting the hallways to get to areas with the most damage. They handed Michael more papers with detailed reports of structural issues. Some held handwritten notes from the original Architects. These words were as much their legacy as Heaven's grandest halls. Michael handled them as fragile relics.

As they walked, Michael heard more about Metatron's actions. How he'd managed to cast the Host to Earth, leaving them flightless and fractured. How they'd been reduced to using a portal as a means of entering and exiting Heaven.

It took several hours of touring crumbling walls and shattered floors before Michael asked to be led back to Heart Hall. He had enough of a grasp on the damage to know where he wanted to start rebuilding. With a plan in place and orders to have their grace worked by the Healers first, the two Architects bounded back toward the Garden.

Michael looked over the Hall. The renewal had already begun. Angels everywhere stretched their restored wings, marveling at the lack of pain and damage. Hope spread to those who had yet to visit the Healers. Broken angels celebrated with their siblings, bolstered by the sight of strong grace.

So much still needed to be done—healing, building, restructuring routines. But this was a good start. Their resilience had served his surviving siblings well.

Michael made his way through Heart Hall, brushing his hands and wings against the seraphs as he went. Ingrid and Puriel followed close on his heels. When he reached the hallways, he set them on a path toward the one place he'd spent the most time—his own office.

" **Puriel,** " Michael started, waiting for the awkward angel to step closer to his side. " **How are the souls? Have they been affected by the damage and turmoil?** "

Puriel remained quiet for a moment, and Michael feared the worst. Of all the areas they'd visited so far, they had not gone into the human portion of Heaven. Finally, Puriel answered. " **I am...unsure, sir.** "

Michael stopped walking, and the seraphs nervously paused too. " **What do you mean, 'unsure?'** "

" **Well, sir, when Metatron expelled the angels, it closed Heaven. Souls were trapped in the veil for a long time. And there has been almost no one but myself to oversee their care. I have been limited in what I can do. And recently...** " Puriel trailed off, shooting worried glances toward Ingrid.

" **Recently?** " Michael gently prodded, trying to be encouraging.

" **We have lost access to certain areas where the souls are stored,** " Puriel mumbled.

" **That...does not bode well.** " Michael wondered what could possibly prevent an angel from reaching a portion of Heaven—especially the Soul Inspector himself.

They reached his office. A large, ornate wooden door stood between him and solitude. Michael had been ecstatic to return to Heaven and reconnect with his siblings, but he needed some time alone soon. The emotional drain of the day was taking its toll.

He'd spent centuries in isolation behind this door, only to have it broken when he became trapped in the cage. The time spent with his Father, Amara, and Raphael had slightly eased him back into socializing, but nothing had prepared him for being among the Host again. It took every drop of patience not to shove the seraphs away and barricade himself behind the familiar door. He needed to mourn the dead away from the survivors. Because he'd failed them both when they'd deserved better.

" **I want you to visit the Garden and see Remiel about your wings. The healers have been working on soldiers most of the day—gather a team of them and see what you can do about getting to the souls,** " he said as he opened the door.

The rest of the order vanished from his mind when Michael looked inside his office. Everything was exactly as he'd left it. Desk in the center, neatly organized and uncluttered. Large windows overlooking whatever area of Heaven he wished—it currently showed the Garden and the teams of angels at work. However, there was one difference—a new addition.

A man sat in his chair, feet propped on top of the desk like he lived there. A _human_ man. A human man Michael recognized, and wasn't surprised to find.

"Well, nice of you to finally show up. Do you know how long I've been waiting for your sorry ass? Too damn long!" the man said in a gruff, impatient voice. "What'd you do, stop for food?"

Michael heard the seraphs gasp behind him. He sent them away, telling Ingrid to accompany Puriel to the Garden. There would be time for more orders later.

As soon as they left, Michael stepped into the room and closed the door. "Bobby Singer," he said in the man's own language. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
** Eternal gratitude to my betas and plotting parnters: Nathyfaith, ScrollingKingfisher, MonPetitTresor, and Patient-Number-Zero have all played enormous roles in ensuring this story got written (and that future stories are so detailed and ready to go)! THANK YOU!

COMMENTS FEED MY SOUL  
(and will be rewarded with Morphues' kisses!)

Come be my friend on Tumblr: theriverscribe


	28. Heaven Waits For You pt2

**HEAVEN WAITS FOR YOU**  
 **PART 2: A Glimpse Beyond This Illusion**

 _Balls,_ Bobby Singer thought as he stared into the face that originally belonged to a young John Winchester. _As if this wasn't awkward enough._ The hunter barely heard the archangel speak, unable to get over how weird it was to hear John's voice so calm. He shook his head to clear it, and swung his legs off the desk. "I'm like a bad penny—you can't throw me far enough away that I won't make my way back."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Singer?" Michael asked, slowly stepping further into the room. "I assume this is not a social call."

"Yeah, I don't imagine you get many of those." Bobby stood with a wince. He didn't know yet how the Cage changed Michael. It wouldn't do to antagonize him too much.

But there was no outburst at his sarcasm. Instead, Michael smiled softly. "No. I have existed mostly in isolation. But today is a new day. I started it with my Father, my brother, and my aunt. I've held two brothers who were once dead, and seen something I thought would never again exist. I was given orders by a human I previously underestimated, and I found myself obeying. I touched more of my siblings in the past few hours than I had since my Father left us."

"Well," Bobby huffed out a breath, "sounds like you've had a hell of a day."

Michael laughed and Bobby fought the urge to duck. "It's been the best day of my life."

"You might want to consider getting out more."

"I think I will," Michael said. He walked to the window overlooking the Garden.

Bobby hesitantly stood next to him and turned to follow his gaze. A few dozen angels sat on the grassy patches between flowers and trees. They all seemed to be giving massages to the air around each others' backs. "What are they doing?" he asked.

"They are healing their wings."

"Oh." Bobby knew the angels couldn't really fly anymore since they fell, but he hadn't realized it was fixable. He thought about the possible implications of a Host restored to full-strength. The angels were deadly enough without their wings.

"You have not told me why you are here," Michael stated, tilting his head as he looked at the hunter.

"Right," Bobby said, clearing his throat. "Guess you could say I'm an emissary, coming to you in search of answers and assurances."

"Does this have anything to do with the fact that my angels can no longer access Heaven's souls?"

"You might say that..."

* * *

 **Sometime Earlier:**

The Roadhouse in Heaven has everything a hunter's soul could want—endless booze, a jukebox with every classic rock song known to man, and good company. Of course, the company didn't come courtesy of Heaven. That was all thanks to Ash.

Bobby Singer took a swig of beer and studied the odd hunter.

Ash sat hunched over a computer, scowling fiercely at the screen. He'd made the machine from scraps found in various individual heavens he'd discovered. Apparently, the genius had been one of the first souls to break free and explore Heaven as a whole. That impulse turned out to be the salvation of all souls in this God-forsaken realm.

The M.I.T. dropout had spent every moment since his death working to hack the ultimate system, and his success was all around Bobby.

Ellen and Bill Harvelle stood behind the bar with their daughter Jo, talking in hushed, worried whispers. Ash had freed them as soon as he'd learned of their deaths from Sam and Dean. Heaven tried to keep them in a more secure area due to their associations with the Winchesters. "Tried" being the operative word—Heaven's security was a constant source of amusement to the hacker.

Pamela had already joined Ash when the Harvelles were freed. The sassy psychic's abilities proved invaluable alongside Ash's genius when it came to keeping in touch with outside events. She'd also led them to many of the souls who sat among them now—people who'd become friends with the Winchester brothers in more recent years.

She currently played pool with a two of them. A red-headed ball of sunshine named Charlie Bradbury who frequently twirled circles around them all, and their most recent addition, the reluctant prophet Kevin Tran, were about as similar as night and day. But they worked together like yin and yang—opposites in perfect harmony. Their genius rivaled even Ash, but they worshiped him as some kind of "nerd god." Bobby wasn't sure if Ash knew of their idolatry.

Ash often appeared completely unaware of his surroundings, and it remained a mystery how he was always the first to react to anything from within his cloud of so-called oblivion. Whether it was a rogue beer bottle sailing toward his computer, or a possible angel incursion in one of their territories, Ash was usually already in motion before anyone else knew what was happening.

Recently, something big was constantly occurring. The Roadhouse had already been in a frantic state for months, if not years—time was a funny thing up here. From Metatron to Amara, Heaven's Hunters never got a break. After the angels got expelled from Heaven, and war started breaking the very walls around them, they'd begun rescuing and organizing souls.

Some joined the hunters in their mission, but many were too lost and confused. Ash re-coded personal heavens, expanding and combining regions to house entire soul communities. There was now an entire team of folks dedicated to maintaining these communities—people who'd been in every field from psychology to engineering worked together to make the afterlife livable. They currently had three major communities, all nearing the size of small cities, and several smaller ones that continued to grow.

In the meantime, Heaven's Hunters continued expanding their inner circle. Tamara and Isaac sat at a booth with Caleb and Pastor Jim Murphy. Rufus Turner paced near the jukebox like an old dog, drinking straight from his bottle of Blue Label Johnny Walker. The entire room felt thick with the tension. No one spoke above a whisper, unwilling to distract Ash from his work.

Bobby felt someone bump against his shoulder as they took the stool next to him. "Remember that time we got drunk and talked about the afterlife? You said Heaven sounded boring and angels were a bunch of pansies with harps. And I laughed, calling you an crotchety old man with no imagination," John Winchester muttered, leaning toward Bobby and pouring him a shot of whiskey. "Does it make me a crotchety old man if I now wish you were right?"

"You are a crotchety old man, John. Always were." Bobby threw back the shot, relishing the momentary burn.

"What's your theory about what's going on? Do you think it's about..." John's voice trailed off, unable to say her name.

Mary Winchester had been the hardest soul for Ash to find, but his persistence eventually paid off. John led the rescue himself, and Bobby grew to love the Winchester mother. Her fearlessness and intelligence quickly established her a leader among Heaven's Hunters. And her presence had been a healing balm to John's soul. A lifetime of seeking revenge and a century spent in Hell had taken a heavy toll on him.

Then, alarms announcing a cataclysmic event sounded from Ash's computer two weeks ago. The genius could only say two words as his fingers flew across the keyboard: "God's dying." Three hours later, the alarms quit.

All hell broke loose. Wards ignited and burned away as a power beyond the angels tore through them. The Roadhouse shook as though caught in a massive earthquake. And in the midst of it all, Mary Winchester disappeared.

John had exploded with fear, shaking Ash's shoulders as he demanded action. The others rushed to put out the fires and check on the soul communities. It took Bobby, Caleb, and Pastor Jim combined to calm John down and allow Ash time to work.

Within an hour, they had part of an answer and no solution. "All I know is that it was Amara. And God's not dying anymore," Ash explained without taking his eyes off the rapid scroll of symbols on the screen.

Since then, the genius had not stopped working. The only interaction he initiated was when his PBR ran out. Ellen tried to keep at least three full bottles within his reach. It helped keep him focused.

Now, they were all trapped playing the waiting game. Bobby grabbed the whiskey from John and poured them each another double. "I don't know, John. But if anyone can figure it out, it's Ash. And if it helps, I wish I'd been right too—about Heaven being boring. Because this is the worst retirement plan I've ever seen."

"Ain't that the truth." John clinked his glass against Bobby's in a toast.

"What the..." Ash's voice drifted across the bar. Bobby and John both turned in time to see him grab hold of the computer and yell, "Brace! Brace for impact!"

There was barely enough time to react as Roadhouse seemed to explode around them. Grace-fueled light fixtures showered down sparks. Tables overturned and the walls cracked, shattering beer bottles and framed photos on the ground.

A wave of static-like energy crashed through the space, carrying a scream that felt familiar. Bobby wasn't sure if it was the electricity or the sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Either way, it was a bad sign.

As the dust settle, he checked to make sure everyone was alright. They may not have bodies, but souls could be just as injured by the grace that formed Heaven as flesh was by knives. But grace-injuries were a lot harder to fix, and best avoided. Luckily, the other hunters were shaken but unhurt.

"What the hell was that?" Ellen demanded, keeping a hold of Jo and Bill. She dragged them over to where Ash was wiping dust from his screen.

"I...I don't know!" Ash sputtered, already typing. "The readings I saw right before it hit...Jesus, I don't know. It was like a fast moving shockwave. But made of grace. Like a grace-bomb went off outside of Heaven. I've never seen anything like it!"

"What about the voice?" Bobby asked. Most of the others looked at him like he was crazy, but Ellen and Pamela both gave a nod to say they'd heard it too.

"What voice?" John grunted. "I couldn't hear anything besides the glass shattering."

"Oh, there was definitely a voice," Ash confirmed. He grabbed an earbud and shoved into one of his ears—his own direct connection to angel radio. Kevin sat next to him, grabbing the other earbud.

Everyone fell silent. Ash's genius extended beyond computers. His gift for codes included any form of language, and he'd become mostly fluent in Enochian since his death. Kevin's prophet brain came programmed to understand the angels' language. They all knew a few key words, but Bobby was the only one interested in learning more. There just wasn't time for daily lessons when Heaven was constantly on the verge of collapsing.

Pamela gasped, staggering against the pool table. Charlie caught her around the waist while Caleb ran to grab a chair. They got her to sit, and she groaned, covering her pained face with her hands.

"Duuudes," Ash said quietly.

"Whoa..." Kevin echoed the sentiment.

"What?" Ellen said, leaning closer and handing him a fresh unbroken beer. She handed Jo a bottle of water and her daughter took it to the psychic.

"The angels—they are freaking out, man!" Ash's eyes went wide and he stopped typing. No one breathed.

"Oh God," Kevin choked out.

"What?!" Charlie whispered loudly, trying not to explode in a bundle of excitement and nerves. She was always good for voicing the general mood of the group.

"They're saying a lot of different things," Ash said. He grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling things down as he heard them. "I can't tell if they're all related to one event."

"No," Kevin shook his head, "there's at least two events they're talking about. One is confusing, but the other..."

"Yeah, the other is a definite, man. Everyone just kinda burst into song because apparently _someone_ thought it was a good idea to bring back the archangels." Ash didn't look up as he continued writing.

"Which ones?" Bobby asked, getting up to read over Ash's shoulder. He huffed when all he saw was shorthand symbols.

"All of them," Kevin whispered. "They're saying that Michael and Raphael have returned, and some believe Gabriel is back too."

"Hmm," Bobby mused. Michael and Raphael could destroy all the hunters' work without trouble. Especially if they were fully-powered. Gabriel, however, was a wild-card.

"What about the confusing thing?" Charlie asked, smacking Kevin's shoulder as she joined him by the bar.

"I don't know," Ash said, crossing off one of the symbols. He kept writing something over and over. "I've never heard this word before. It looks like they're saying 'flying baby,' but it makes no sense. Then there's another phrase they keep saying..."

"Child of Heaven," Kevin finished. "And the other word isn't 'flying baby.' It's fledgling."

"Man!" Ash threw his pen, bouncing it off the prophet's head. "I wish I could download your brain. Do you know how long it would have taken me to figure that out?"

"Yeah, like ten minutes," Kevin said, elbowing the other genius in the ribs while basking in the praise.

"What the hell's a fledgling?" John asked, as bewildered as the rest of them.

"A baby angel." The soft voice of Pastor Jim joined the discussion. He picked up the thrown pen and returned it to Ash, sitting down next to the man.

"Well, I guess that explains all the chatter about the 'Child of Heaven.' I haven't heard the angels this worked up since the boys released Amara." Ash grabbed the pen again and kept scribbling. Everyone knew who he meant by "the boys."

"Are they talking about a Nephilim?" Bobby asked. As far as they knew, angels couldn't make other angels—they only made half-angel 'abominations' by mating with a human. But that practice was outlawed and strictly enforced by the rest of the Host according to every scrap of lore Bobby had ever read. "What are they saying about this thing? Are they gearing up for a hunt?"

"No, it's definitely not a Nephilim," Kevin answered confidently. "'Fledgling' meaning 'angel child' is a very specific word. It sounds nothing like the words they use for bird babies or Nephilim. Besides, the angels are excited—as in joyfully excited."

"And worried," added Ash. "The thing that shook Heaven was caused by this kid's grace. It exploded or something? Exploded? But the kid didn't explode. So..." His voice trailed off and Kevin gasped.

Ash hit a few buttons and unplugged the headphones. At first, only static poured from the speakers next to the computer. He smacked them twice and the static fell silent. Then a voice whispered through them clearly—a young voice full of pain and fear.

Bobby felt his gut clench at the sound. It was the same voice he'd heard screaming in the energy wave. The same screaming voice he'd heard almost thirty years ago from within an old locked car in his salvage yard. It spoke what Bobby assumed was Enochian, but there was one word he recognized— _Dean._ It was the only confirmation he needed.

"Dean?" John whispered, panic creeping into his tone. The speaker fell silent again, then exploded as hundreds of angels began speaking at once. Ash jammed the headphones back into their jack and resumed listening to the chaos. "Why would some angel kid say Dean's name?"

Bobby took a shaky breath and stepped away from the group. "Because it's Sam talking."

Even Ash stopped writing at the hunter's words. Bobby turned around to find everyone's eyes trained on him. John looked confused and pale. "What? Why would you say that?"

"I thought I recognized his voice when I heard the scream. I didn't know a lot of kids in my day, but I knew your boys pretty well. And that sounded exactly like the time Sam got trapped in a car while playing hide and seek with his brother. The boy panicked and screamed to high heaven the whole time I ran to grab the tools to unlock it. He didn't stop until I got the door open and Dean pulled him out. I'd never forget that sound."

John stared at him. "But the geniuses said the angels are calling this kid the source of the explosion. That it was caused by grace. _Grace_ from an _angel kid_ , Bobby! Last I checked, Sam wasn't an angel, and definitely wasn't an actual _kid!_ He's bigger than me, for Christ's sake!"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know any more than you do. I'm just telling you what I heard."

"Well, you heard wrong!" John yelled. Bobby heard the fear and worry driving the anger, and sighed.

"John." Pastor Jim said, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "It's too soon for assumptions. Let's wait and see if these boys hear anything more substantial. Okay?"

John's shoulders dropped as he forced himself to relax. "Yeah, okay." He looked up, meeting Bobby's eyes with a genuinely apologetic smile. "Guess it's probably too much to wish my boys could sit on on just one major event."

"Probably," Bobby agreed.

They all quickly cleaned up the mess while Ash and Kevin continued to listen. The two Enochian speakers took turns giving updates. Things happened pretty quickly over the next hour.

"Gabriel's been sighted, so he's confirmed as resurrected," Kevin said. "Michael just intercepted him and...Castiel? They were on some kind of collision course with Earth."

"What is Cas even doing?" Charlie wondered.

"Little guy always was a little short on sense," Bobby said with a short laugh. "And from what I've heard over the years, that ain't changed any."

"Hey," Charlie scolded, hitting his arm none too gently. "No smack talking Mister Dreamy!"

"Ain't he _off_ your radar, missy?" Bobby teased.

"That doesn't mean I don't have an appreciation for pretty people. Have you seen his eyes?"

"Oh, sure," Bobby said, rolling his own in response. "Oceans of blue I could just fall into."

"I know, right?!" Charlie agreed, ignoring the obvious snark.

It wasn't long before Ash gave them another update. "Michael just stopped a team of angels from investigating the explosion. They were ordered to return to Heaven and wait for him. I think the angels are still forming teams...in case something happens and he doesn't make it back."

Bobby pulled out their weapons storage locker. They rarely had to fight, but it was better to be prepared. Angel blades were easy enough to come by when no angels were around to guard their store rooms. And the number of angel-deaths over the years meant there was an abundance of extra blades. No one noticed any missing when the angels eventually limped back to Heaven.

"You got a plan already?" Rufus muttered, helping him sort through their supplies.

"'Plan' is a bit too strong a word," Bobby answered wryly. "Gettin' prepared is all."

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll be _real_ intimidating to an archangel with our butter-knife collection," the cranky hunter mused.

"Well, I guess you could just breathe on him real hard first and get him disoriented from the fumes for me."

Rufus cackled with laughter.

"He's here!" Ash announced, holding his hand up to get their attention.

"Michael?" Tamara asked as she moved alongside Bobby to grab a blade. "He's here in Heaven?"

"Yeah," Kevin confirmed. "He's addressing the angels in Heart Hall, but he's broadcasting to everyone." The two listeners fell silent for a moment, and the hunters all waited as patiently as possible. Identical looks of shock covered Ash and Kevin's faces seconds later.

"What?" John tried to whisper, but it came out strangled.

"He's apologizing." Kevin's voice was soft and breathless.

Ash rushed to write the words down. "He's saying he was wrong...something about purpose..."

"He'd forgotten his and Heaven's purpose, but they have a second chance. God gave them back their purpose, and it starts now," Kevin explained, his words growing ominous and slow by the end.

"He's calling for healers and reports," Ash added. Then, both men jumped and yanked out their earbuds while Pamela let out another painful hiss. "Damn! Everyone started talking at once as soon as the boss man finished his speech."

"What did he mean by purpose?" Caleb spoke up. The hunter rarely spoke in group discussion, preferring to keep his conversations between one or two people at a time. It had always been his way.

"I'm not sure," Kevin answered when Ash deferred to him. "But it's got every angel beyond ecstatic."

"No kidding! I think half of them are just singing. The rest are screaming orders over the weird chanting chorus." Ash shook his head. "Angels are weird, man."

"So, what do we do now?" Isaac joined his wife in grabbing an angel blade.

"We need to secure the communities," Tamara said. Ellen and Ash both nodded—their priorities were always the souls they protected.

"I'll strengthen our wards from here, but we need people on the ground," Ash said. He set aside the pad and pen to resume typing. "Tamara, take Isaac and Charlie to the Big Three. Let them know to prepare for anything. I'll fortify what I can, but have them check everything manually there. And see if they can spare a few people to visit the smaller communities. Spread the word."

"Keep it strong, bitches!" Charlie called as she danced past them to grab a blade and her bag. Tamara drew the symbols onto the door that would take them straight to the first of their three largest community. They glowed as grace poured into them. Isaac handed her a bag, and the three of them ducked into the bright light of Heaven's hallways.

"I'm gonna check our own wards," said Ellen. Jo followed her when Pamela reassured her she'd be fine. They left Bill in charge of the PBR supply.

Bobby took the stool next to Ash. He felt John and Rufus stand close behind him, and saw Caleb and Pastor Jim sit on the other side of Kevin. The five men, plus Tamara and Isaac, were usually the ones who went into the thick of things in Heaven. Reconnaissance, soul rescues, and any potentially dangerous situations were their specialties.

Mary had made their numbers even, allowing them to break into four teams of two. Her absence felt like an echo in the room. They all tried not to look where she'd normally stand.

"Okay folks," Ash said, finally pausing in his typing to look at them. "We need more information and eyes in places we don't normally venture. Right now, Heaven is lighting up in ways I haven't seen since the Apocalypse. I don't know if it's because there's an archangel up here or if the angels are doing something intentionally."

"What can we do?" Pastor Jim asked.

"I need you and Caleb to take Kevin to Raphael's old office. Kev's gonna bug it in case he returns. The Healer's whole area was abandoned long before he died, so we never bothered doing anything beyond snooping. But if he comes back, I want a direct line." Ash wrote a few things on a fresh piece of paper and handed it to Kevin who shoved it into a pocket. The two hunters nodded, and gathered their gear.

"Rufus and John, you're gonna get word out to our patrols and secure the soul entrance. Make sure we don't get any interference with newcomers. It's a hell of a lot easier getting them fresh from Earth than having to pull them from a broken personal Heaven hidden somewhere."

"Me?" John asked tersely. Bobby felt the same knee-jerk reaction—Rufus was _his_ partner. What was Ash's reason for splitting them up?

"Yeah, I know. You and Rufus don't normally work together," Ash reassured with a sheepish smile. "But Bobby's the only one who's actually remembers meeting Michael. I need his brain to give me answers, and see if I can make sense of this mess."

John looked between Ash and Bobby with a hint of suspicion. Bobby shrugged, just as lost. For a moment, it looked like John was going to argue, but eventually relented. "Fine. But if you hear anything, and I mean _anything,_ about Mary or the boys, you contact me. Deal?" He held his hand out to shake on it.

Some of the tension drained from the computer genius' frame at the agreement. "Sure thing, amigo!" Ash spit in his palm and slapped their hands together.

John made a face, but allowed it. They had bigger things to worry about than a little spit. "Come on. Let's see if you can still keep up, old man."

"Old man?!" Rufus glared indignantly, but without real heat. "I'll be runnin' circles around the likes of your ugly ass before we reach the first patrol."

"I'll believe it when I see it," John called over his shoulder. He clasped Bobby's shoulder before they left, looking the hunter in the eye. "Anything about Mary or the boys..."

"I know," Bobby said.

John nodded, and reluctantly moved away. Rufus handed him his gear. Everyone's bags contained extra chalk for marking doors, first aid supplies, and makeshift walkie-talkies made by Ash and Charlie. Rufus wiped down the door, clearing the symbols made by Tamara and drawing new ones.

When they left, Pastor Jim repeated the process. Kevin stood wedged between the pastor and Caleb, looking nervous but determined. He was a ballsy little guy, but his time as a prophet had prepared him for far worse than what he'd experienced so far in Heaven.

"We really need to put in more doors," Pamela remarked. She shakily made her way to the bar and took Kevin's seat.

"You alright there, Pam?" Bill asked quietly.

She waved off his concern. "I'm fine. I'd be better with something a bit stronger than water, though, if you don't mind."

Bill nodded with a grin, and mixed her a whiskey sour. She downed it in one go and he handed her a second before she could ask. Heaven may have the best liquors, but it took quite a bit for souls to feel the effect. It was helpful for when they needed to sober up quickly, but not so good when they sought the numbness it offered.

"So, what did you need to know?" Bobby asked.

"What?" Ash looked confused for a second, then blushed. Bobby raised an eyebrow in question. "Oh, right. I may have lied a little."

"Excuse me?" That was not what Bobby expected to hear. They didn't operate on secrets here.

"Yeah, see the thing is, I needed you for something else. And I knew John wouldn't be happy." Ash took a long draw from his beer.

"Go on," Bobby said, frowning.

"I want your eyes in Michael's office. I need access to that changing window that looks into all the areas of Heaven. It's the only way we can physically see different regions without spreading our numbers any thinner."

Bobby's frown deepened. "Okay. But why did you need John out of the way for that?"

"Because there's only so much we can learn from observation." Ash hesitated, then continued. "And I think you might consider talking to Michael."

"You what now?"

Ash jumped up, rushing to explain as he gathered items from around the room and shoved them into a gear bag. "I can track him from here while you get eyes on him in that window, and we've got a few angel EMPs that will mess with their grace. If you need out fast, they'll buy you enough time to escape through our backdoors." He returned to his seat and set the bag in front of Bobby on the bar. "Everything I've heard tells me that this Michael is very different from the one we knew before. From his window, you'll be able to see if it's true. And getting him alone, fresh from his time with dear old Dad, might be our best bet."

Bobby stared at him. He knew that they'd been struggling. The pressure of keeping souls safe wore daily on all of them. Most of the time, it felt like they were barely keeping their heads above water. But this still felt like a suicide run. "Our best bet for what?"

"For getting answers. And to initiate some kind of negotiations with a real leader—someone the other angels will definitely follow. We can't..." he broke off to finish his beer in a rare display of flustered emotion. "We can't keep going the way we are. The souls are entering faster than we can help. And there are still too many personal heavens we can't reach because they're too dangerous to navigate. We don't have the numbers or knowledge to get through the collapsed areas. We need help."

"Okay," Bobby said, patting the overwhelmed genius on the back. If this is what was needed, then he would do it. "So I'll get in there, see what's happening, and if it looks like Michael's not about to restart the Apocalypse, then I'll wait for him." Suddenly, having John out of the picture made a lot of sense.

"He feels different," Pamela spoke up. She sipped her third whiskey sour and turned to them. The tension on her face had eased some, but it wasn't gone. "Michael—he doesn't feel like he did last time he was in Heaven. Before, he was like an empty void. No rage or fire at all, just cold and blank like there was nothing left of him. But now, he's bursting with emotion and energy."

"'Bursting' how?" Bobby asked.

"Joy, excitement, relief, and love are blending with overwhelming grief. If he were human, I'd say he was crying right now."

Bobby blinked in shock. "A crying archangel? Damn." Ash stayed quiet, listening through his headphones with a slight frown. "What's wrong?"

Ash shook his head. "For some reason, no one is saying the name 'Winchester.' There's lots of murmurs about the fledgling, but no one has any answers and no word of the kid's identity. Which makes me think the Host is in the dark."

Bobby nodded slowly. The angels didn't know the hunters could listen in on their conversations. And they were notorious for gossiping about anything and everything they deemed important. If they weren't talking about the identity of the fledgling, then they didn't know it. "So, I should ask about Sam and Mary. Yeah, John would've demanded he go in personally with guns blazing like a fool."

"He's not known for being an unemotional negotiator," Pamela said with a knowing grin.

"Or a negotiator at all," Ellen said, rejoining the group. Jo followed close on her heels as they resumed their place behind the bar.

"Ain't that the truth," Bobby huffed. "Alright. Let's get this show on the road."

It took no time at all for him to grab what his gear and draw the necessary symbols on the door. They'd memorized the different 'keys' to all the various locations they could access. He gave a nod to the others as he opened the door.

"You better come back to us, Bobby Singer!" Ellen yelled after him.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," he called back over his shoulder. The door shut behind him and he was alone.

Ash had been the first to figure out how to navigate his way through Heaven's different regions. Since then, they'd built their own paths where there were none. It took less effort than it probably should to get from the Roadhouse to the head archangel's office.

Bobby knew this room well. They often utilized the window when there was shit going down in Heaven. The angels all seemed to avoid Michael's room like a plague, but it served the hunters' needs perfectly. Even Metatron had stayed away from it.

"Okay, I'm in," Bobby whispered into the walkie-talkie. "Am I still clear?"

"All good, my man," Ash's voice crackled softly over the speaker. "You got eyes on anyone yet?"

"Bringing it up now," Bobby answered. The window currently showed a dark room, empty except for some rubble. His fingers flew over the glyphs on the wall, and the image shifted to Heart Hall. "I'm looking at the Heart. Michael's leading a group out now. Oh, Jesus Christ..."

"What?" Ash asked when Bobby didn't continue.

"He's got a vessel. It looks like someone went and got himself a younger model of John."

"Good thing Johnny-boy's no where near there then," Pamela said.

"No kidding," Bobby muttered to himself.

He followed them as much as he could with the window, but it didn't show hallways. Once they left Heart Hall, he'd have to wait for them to show up again. Ash assured him that they weren't headed toward the offices, so Bobby checked the other areas available for viewing.

"It seems like all the angels have gathered in Heart Hall for now. Except Joshua, but he never leaves the Garden," he said, updating the others.

The window showed strange places the hunters had never been able to visit. They'd spent many hours speculating what those unnamed areas were used for, but they had no way of knowing for sure. Some seemed like offices while others contained weird looking pods. Charlie thought they were for making aliens, and Bobby agreed that they resembled things he'd seen in the movies.

He rotated through the different window options until Michael and his group reappeared in the Garden. He watched them for a while, unsure what they were doing exactly. It looked like a bizarre dance of arm movements. The speaker cracked with laughter from the Roadhouse crew when he tried to describe the sight.

The longer he watched, the more he recognized the differences in Michael. It was in the way he smiled and moved, hugging the seraphs with love and gently touching them. All made even more disturbing when done with the body of his fellow hunter. And judging by the reactions from the seraphs every time Michael laughed or smiled, they were also unused to this side of the archangel.

Bobby wished he could hear what they were discussing, but the window only allowed for a visual. Not that he could follow an Enochian conversation, but tone of voice went a long way into understanding what someone meant. "How are the others doing? Have you heard from them?" he asked while waiting.

"Kevin wants to move into Raphael's office. I told him to leave everything how he found it, but I'm guessing he's probably packed away half the dude's library by now. Who knew archangels were such nerds? Grumpy Old Man and Grumpier have also checked in—several dozen times. All is well in the communities and the newcomer entrance so far. Looks like the angels are centered on the boss man's return—their usual patrols aren't even out and about."

Bobby chuckled. "Which one is Grumpier?"

"Oh man," Ash mumbled. "Both of them."

Bobby shook his head and watched as the angels left Michael with three seraphs and Joshua. "Looks like they're on the move again. The group Michael brought to the Garden just ran outta there like they had somewhere important to be. Any change in the chatter?"

"Umm," Ash paused. Bobby figured he was listening to them and waited. "Sounds like they're all healers. He's given them orders to go spread the healing among the Host or something."

"Okay. As long as they ain't headed my way. Michael's on the move now too." Bobby's eyes followed Michael as he led the three seraphs out of the Garden. After a few minutes of flipping through the different windows, he located him again back in Heart Hall. He soon found himself feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic.

Michael was handed a stack of papers from a tiny blonde girl. Whatever he was being shown or told had an immediate effect on the archangel. Bobby wiped his mouth with a sigh as Michael stumbled, openly weeping in front of everyone.

"Balls," he whispered. "Ash?"

"Yeah, Pam-a-lama's feeling it too." Ash's voice was soft, and Bobby heard Pamela crying in the background. "Lot's of heavy grief."

"Well, at least we know he's capable of feeling _something_. Maybe he'll actually listen." For the first time, Bobby felt a thrill of hope.

After that, Michael seemed to take a tour of Heaven. Bobby tried to keep up with all the places they visited, sending word to the Roadhouse with each new location. Some he recognized, but not all of them. And then, he suddenly heard Ash telling him that Michael had entered the office area and was headed his way.

Bobby had just enough time to sit down at the desk and hide the walkie-talkie, switching the button to 'talk' so the Roadhouse could hear if he needed a rescuing.

* * *

Michael remained silent throughout Bobby's story. He had never been more impressed by humanity's abilities as he was in that moment. To learn that a group of humans were basically running half of Heaven? Unthinkable. Unbelievable. Incredible.

"It sounds like I owe you and your friends my deepest gratitude," he said with a slight bow.

"What?" Bobby asked, surprise evident on his face.

"You have succeeded where the angels failed," Michael explained. He directed the hunter over toward a couch and they both sat. He couldn't remember ever taking the time to sit there before, and certainly not with another person. "Heaven has many purposes, Mr. Singer. It is home for the Host—has been since long before my Father ever sculpted a single planet. But its other great purpose is to be home for souls who have passed. In that, we have failed."

"Well, it's not like there was much choice when Metatron took over." Bobby shrugged, looking uncomfortable with the praise.

"Yes, but we failed long before then." Michael sighed. "We have not cared for souls—we stored them. But it sounds like you have found a better way. Communities? I never considered such an idea!"

"Souls are people. People need other people, even if they _are_ dead."

"I'm starting to see that." Michael nodded, agreeing with his point. "So, tell me—you said you needed answers and assurances. How can I help you with those?"

Bobby took a deep breath. "I need assurances that the angels aren't gonna swoop in and shut us down. We've got a good system in place, but..."

"But?" Michael gently encouraged when the hunter didn't immediately continue.

"But honestly? We could use some support." Bobby's eyes met the archangel's own, his gaze challenging. "If you're serious about caring about the souls in this joint, then you gotta know your system is shit. Personal Heavens are a joke. Most are collapsing on a structural level, and we can only reach a small percentage. And I don't mean we need help 'storing' souls back into their tiny boxes. I mean we need to get them outta there and into the larger communities we've started."

Michael tilted his head, in awe of the human. He'd met Bobby Singer once before—the man's courage had only grown since then. "I can promise that we will not 'shut you down.' In fact, I am intrigued by your system. I would like to send my architects to assist, as well as my Soul Inspector. Puriel has been quite distraught by the fact that he could not access the Souls' Heaven for some time now."

Bobby stared back blankly for a second. Then he exhaled, and shook his head in disbelief. "Um, thank you. We'd appreciate it."

"Thank you, Mr. Singer. You and your friends have performed an invaluable service to Heaven and my family. I am eternally in your debt."

"That's not something ya hear everyday," the hunter said with a smile. "And it's Bobby. My father was 'Mr. Singer.' And I ain't him."

"Of course, Bobby," Michael conceded. "Now, any other assurances I can offer? I know you had some questions."

"Oh, I got questions. First, I wanna know where Mary Winchester is and why she got taken."

Michael held up his hand, stopping the man before he got too worked up. "Rest assured, Mary Winchester is quite well. My aunt resurrected her as a gift. It seems Dean Winchester left a lasting impression on my aunt during their encounters, and she wished to thank him for reuniting her with my Father. In fact, I just saw Mary before I returned to Heaven, and she was with both of her sons."

"Good. That leads me to my next question." Bobby's eyes narrowed. "I wanna know why I heard Sam Winchester screaming when that wave of grace tore through this place."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments so far! Y'all are amazing. Seriously.  
Only one more chapter in Heaven, and then we'll be back to the bunker with Sam and Morpheus and the rest of them!  
I know some of y'all are nervous being away from the baby angel too long, but I promise we'll be back soon.

REMEMBER-COMMENTS FEED MY SOUL!  
And so do friends! Come be one of mine on Tumblr...I have the same name, TheRiverScribe.


	29. Heaven Waits For You pt3

**HEAVEN WAITS FOR YOU  
Part 3: Now Your Life's No Longer Empty**

Michael studied the hunter, fascinated by the mixture of gruff confidence and cautious uncertainty.

What was it about the Winchesters and their associates that made humans willing to ignore their instinct to cower in the face of an archangel and make demands instead? Perhaps it was a hunter thing. Or maybe humans lost their awe of the Host sometime after God left them.

Whatever the reason, Michael found himself pleased by the honest reactions. "You recognized Samuel's voice?" he asked.

Bobby sucked in a breath at the confirmation and nodded. "Yeah."

"You are an amazing soul, Bobby Singer."

The man frowned. "I don't need butterin' up. Just tell me what happened to my boys."

"I do not have all the details yet myself, but I can tell you the basics." Michael smiled, hoping it would be enough to appease the anxious man.

"I ain't getting any younger," Bobby gestured for him to continue.

"When Amara reunited with my Father, She decided to bestow a gift on Dean Winchester for his efforts and resurrected his mother. Similarly, my Father offered a gift of healing to Samuel. He used His own grace to repair Samuel's damaged soul, merging the two together."

"Damage from the Cage?"

"And other events that have transpired since then."

"Your Daddy's grace—it changed Sam into some kinda angel kid?" Bobby asked hesitantly.

"Into a fledgling, yes." Michael worried about the hunter's reaction. Would he care less for the boy knowing he was no longer human? "It reformed his body. But he remains Samuel Winchester with all his memories intact. It is a second chance—not a 'do over,' as I believe you humans like to say."

Some of the tension drained out of the man at this news. "Well, that's good, I guess. So, he's physically a kid again? Because that was _not_ adult-Sam's voice I heard."

Michael nodded. "A side-effect of the grace healing, I believe. Raphael could probably explain it better. Samuel appeared to be quite young—around six, perhaps?"

"You've seen him?" Bobby asked quietly, the tension returning.

"I was returning to Heaven when I heard his cry. Raphael and I went to investigate and assist. Apparently, a group of humans took Samuel using weapons stolen from Heaven. The weapons were recovered and Samuel is in the care of his family." Michael looked away, unable to meet the human's gaze. "I left as soon as I was assured he would be alright. My presence is understandably upsetting to him."

"What happened when he was taken?" Bobby demanded. "He don't make sounds like that over a stubbed toe."

"They hurt him quite severely," Michael felt the rage burn through his grace at the memory, and it took a moment for him to continue speaking. "It was not life-threatening. And he is in the hands of the best Healer besides my Father."

"Let me get this straight." Bobby stood and began to pace the room. "God healed Sam, turning him into a kid-angel. Then, humans took and tortured him. And you left _Raphael_ with them?"

"Gabriel is there too," Michael added. "But I believe he's been with them for a little while now."

"Dean actually agreed to all this?" Bobby faced him, hands crossed over his chest.

"He had a few conditions which I have adhered to them. But he did seem to accept Gabriel's presence. He left Samuel in my brother's care long enough to make his demands known to me. I understand such an act would require some amount of trust for either Winchester."

"You're telling me Dean let Sam out of his sight after they'd been forcefully separated?" Bobby shook his head. "I'm dead a few years, and everything changes."

"Yes," Michael agreed, "I find myself learning a similar lesson. Time does not stop just because we are no longer present to be part of it. Nor do the consequences of our actions disappear with our absence."

"Tell me about it," Bobby huffed with an empty laugh.

Michael tilted his head in confusion. "I thought I just did."

The hunter stared at him, shaking his head. "It's an expression. You're just like Cas when we first met him."

"Oh," Michael considered the comparison, not quite sure how to take it, "Well, Castiel seems to have adjusted over time, so perhaps there is hope for me yet."

"I'm having a hard time picturing that idjit as anything close to 'adjusted' but I'll take your word for it."

"You will?"

"With a grain of salt, maybe."

"Is that another expression?"

Bobby laughed again, warmer and with actual humor this time. "Yeah. Hang out with humans once in a while and you'll pick up all kinds of new phrases."

A knock at the door startled both of them. The office acted as a buffer with the door closed, allowing Michael to concentrate without the constant stream of chatter from the Host. He hadn't even realized how quiet things were in his mind since entering the room—he was used to the silence.

Michael reached with his grace to see who was interrupting, and he almost ran to open the door. He managed to control his pace, but there was no hiding his enthusiasm as he nearly wrenched the door off its hinges.

" **Brother** ," he said breathlessly, throwing himself around the other archangel.

Raphael easily caught him, gathering him closer with a similar desperation. Michael felt his brother's vessel trembling. They stood there, wrapped in arms and wings, taking solace in each other's presence.

" **I saw the Host gathered in Heart Hall. Michael, they—** " Raphael's deep rumble broke with emotion.

" **I know, Raphael. I have the healers working as fast as possible to see them restored, but the situation is more dire than we had anticipated.** " Michael stepped back. He saw the weight of grief in the Healer's eyes, and knew it mirrored his own.

Raphael nodded. " **I heard—the seraphs were eager to give me updates when I arrived. It took me awhile to reach you.** "

" **I am glad you have returned,** " he murmured into his younger brother's shoulder.

"Hello," a gruff voice said, reminding Michael of the hunter in his office.

"My apologies," Michael said, leading Raphael further into the room and shutting the door. "Bobby Singer, this is my brother Raphael."

"I figured," Bobby grunted, looking awkward. "We've kinda met."

"Yes," Raphael said with a wry smile, "You were one of the last faces I saw before my Father reformed me."

"If it counts for anything, we were there to stop Cas. Didn't really count on him blowin' you up."

"That was certainly a surprise." Raphael chuckled as he moved to gaze out the window into the Garden. "I suppose it served me right—I did kill him first, after all."

Bobby's eyes darted between the two archangels as though searching for something. "That's mighty forgiving of you."

"Castiel would never have been pushed into such a desperate position had I not sought to restart the Apocalypse. I carry most of the blame. And I have no desire for vengeance—only healing. The two cannot coexist."

"Not for long, anyway." Bobby leaned against Michael's desk, keeping his eyes trained on the Healer. "I hear you've been with Sam."

"How is he?" Michael asked, his thoughts finally settling after their emotional reunion. "I've told Bobby about Samuel's situation, but I know so little myself…"

Raphael sighed—a heavy, weary sound that made both Michael and Bobby straighten up with worry. "Samuel is many things," he finally answered. A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he turned away from the Garden to face them. "He is a fascinatingly unique creature, capable of more determination and will than I have witnessed in most full-gown angels. I fear that fortitude will lead to trouble the likes of which we have not known since Gabriel was a fledgling."

"Yeah, he's always been a stubborn one," Bobby agreed. "What about his injuries?"

Raphael's smile disappeared. "Physically, he is completely healed—which was a battle unto itself. The injuries to his body were easy enough. The burns to his grace were more difficult, and Samuel fought against being healed until it was unavoidable. Emotionally?" He shook his head. "He continues to insist he is 'fine' even in the face of night terrors and outbursts of rage. The more pain he is in, the harder he tries to hide it. I have grown to detest the word 'fine.'"

Shame made Michael want to crawl under his desk. He knew the memories causing Samuel's suffering—he'd been responsible for many of them. For a fledgling to now carry such scars was unforgiveable.

Bobby chuckled, and Michael felt a flicker of anger temporarily replace his shame. He saw nothing amusing about Raphael's words! But then, the hunter spoke and Michael understood the humor was not in regard to the boy's pain.

"Welcome to 'Raising a Winchester 101,'" Bobby said, patting Raphael on the shoulder. "They've been tough little shits their whole lives. You think pint-sized Sam's hard to deal with? Try making a six-foot-four wall of muscle lay down and take a nap, or eat a damn sandwich. Or better yet, try doing that when you've got two of 'em. If Sam and Dean set their minds on something together, then you better have a secret weapon on hand. Otherwise, it's like screaming at the sun to tone it down."

Raphael grimaced at the idea. "I shall count my blessings that both brothers were not changed into fledglings. One is exhausting enough. I understand now why Gabriel insists on resting when the opportunity arises."

"I still can't believe the boys are letting the Trickster stay with them." Bobby wiped his face with his hand. "Especially Dean. Cas is one thing, but Gabriel? I can't see it."

"Really?" Raphael asked, his eyes bright. "I dare say much has changed since last you saw him. Gabriel would probably smite anyone who suggests he part from the Winchesters. He adores all three of them, and he is fiercely attached to Samuel. In fact, Gabriel almost destroyed the Earth in his attempt to reunite with his charge."

"He what?" Bobby asked, horrified. Michael could only imagine the images those words inspired—especially for a man who had fought against archangels bent on destroying his world.

Raphael grinned, which seemed to further disturb the hunter. "It was not on purpose—merely a miscalculation in his trajectory and a disregard for his own limits with speed. The humans had banished him and Castiel out of Earth's solar system, and he was determined to return as quickly as possible."

"So, Gabriel's taken a liking to the boys and their momma. That don't explain why they're letting him stay."

"He has not tricked them, or manipulated their minds, if that is your fear," Raphael reassured. "I am aware that their history was not ideal, but the affection between them all is mutual. Gabriel dotes on them, and they look to him as the head of their flock—even if they do not entirely realize it. Dean calls him 'Gabe' and they play with each other like brothers. They constantly engage in verbal sparring matches, but it is done with joy. And Samuel…" Raphael sighed, a soft smile gracing his vessel's lips.

"And Sam?" Bobby prodded when the archangel paused for too long.

Michael sensed the waves of fondness from his brother and knew Raphael was lost in memories. He hoped to see the things the Healer described with his own eyes one day.

"Samuel loves Gabriel. He calls for my brother when he wakes from nightmares, and gravitates toward him always. He trusts Gabriel enough to seek comfort from him. And Gabriel works hard to ensure that he does nothing to break that fragile trust." Raphael's eyes shifted to Michael with a knowing look. "I shall endeavor to be a steadying influence on both menaces. I fear them as a united force—they will likely drive us all to madness with pranks."

"Father help us all," Michael mumbled, closing his eyes. "If Samuel is anything like Gabriel, they will have Heaven in flames within a century."

Bobby barked out a laugh. "You do realize that Sam was raised by Dean Winchester, right? I'd just start stocking up on fire extinguishers now."

Several staccato bursts of static suddenly came from Michael's desk. The archangels quickly turned, unused to such a sound.

 _What is that?_ Michael silently asked his brother.

Raphael frowned and stepped closer to investigate. _I do not know. It sounds like…_

"Balls!" Bobby exclaimed under his breath. His face was bright red as he reached under the desk and pulled out a small metal box.

"What is that?" Michael repeated out loud, mystified by the strange object. He had never seen such a thing in Heaven.

"It is a communication device of some kind, is it not?" Raphael asked.

"Yeah," Bobby answered sheepishly, "It's a walkie-talkie. Keeps me in touch with our home base." He flipped a switch on the side, then pressed a button and spoke into it. "I'm good, Ash."

There was a moment of silence. Then, the speaker crackled again. "You sure? Do you need an _off-ramp?_ "

Bobby rolled his eyes. "No, Ash. No off-ramps necessary."

"What about...a _snack cake?_ "

"No! Damn it, Ash, keep the _snack cakes_ at the bar! I'm fine!"

"Geeze, fine. Sounds like you need a nap."

"I…" Bobby trailed off in confusion, then turned away and whispered, "I don't even remember that code. What the hell's a 'nap' stand for again?"

"It stands for 'sleeping in the middle of the day because you're a cranky old guy."

The hunter scowled, blushing even harder. "Good-bye, Ash. I'll let you know when I'm headed back to kick your ass," he grumbled.

"Home base?" Raphael asked.

Michael grinned, excited to finally share some good news with his brother. "Wait till you hear what the human souls have been up to in our absence."

He let Bobby explain about the soul communities, and the hunters who headed the effort. Raphael's reactions were priceless. Pure joy and curiosity blended together as he launched into questions. Michael didn't envy the poor human—his brother was tenacious when he found something new to learn about.

As they discussed the growing issues of the souls' Heavens, Michael sent a silent word for Puriel to return to his office with the Architect Charmeine when they'd finished being healed. He watched from his window as the little Soul Inspector nodded down in the Garden. It wasn't long before they heard a soft knock at the door.

"Puriel, Charmeine, thank you for returning," he said in English for Bobby's sake, and ushered them into his office.

The seraphs stared at him in confusion. No angel spoke any language other than Enochian when they were in Heaven. But before they could ask about it, they saw Raphael and gasped.

" **Healer!** " Charmeine burst out, her hands clutched to her chest.

Raphael smiled and moved forward to embrace the seraphs. He wrapped them both in his arms. "Hello, my little angels. I have missed you."

Charmeine made a sound between a laugh and a sob while Puriel tentatively raised an arm to hold onto the archangel. When they stepped away from each other, Michael saw tears in all their eyes.

Then, those eyes went wide as they caught sight of Bobby.

"Sir?" Puriel squeaked. "A…a soul, sir! How…?"

"I have discovered the reason you lost access to the souls, Puriel," Michael said with a grin and Puriel took a step back.

"Really, sir?"

"Yes. The souls have organized themselves in our absence." He wasn't disappointed by the seraphs' reactions.

Their mouths dropped open in shock. Puriel's wings actually flared out, hitting Charmeine and knocking her back several steps. Raphael made a disapproving noise at the sight of the ragged, barely useable, appendages.

"Organized? The souls are running free? How?" Puriel asked in a horrified whisper. He looked at Bobby like he was seeing the hunter for the first time.

"We ain't children," Bobby said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "or zoo animals. We had to do something when the walls started crumbling down around us and there weren't no angels there to fix it. Besides, a bunch of us have dealt with angels and the supernatural on Earth enough to know when we're being kept in a dream-world. We don't like it."

"But…but…but…" Puriel stuttered.

Charmeine nudged her way next to the Soul Inspector, eyes trained on the hunter. "How bad is the damage?"

"Bad," Bobby answered.

"Puriel and Charmeine," Michael said to get their attention, "This is Bobby Singer. He has informed me of several problems concerning our system for the souls. I would like you to go with him. He can show you the structural issues and introduce you to their communities."

"Communities? As in 'more than one?'" Puriel asked.

"We got three major communities, with a couple hundred _people_ living in each. And there's a dozen or so smaller ones still forming with about twenty to thirty folks a piece. But there are billions still trapped in Heavens that are breaking more and more every day." Bobby stepped closer and shoved his hands into faded jean pockets. "We'd appreciate any help we can get—as long as you don't start locking us back into our boxes."

The seraphs looked to Michael for direction, and the archangel nodded in agreement. "Raphael, I'd like you to accompany them for introductions." He saw the Healer raise a questioning eyebrow, and Michael gave a sad smile. "I would go myself, but I believe my presence would not be very welcome."

Bobby snorted. "Not with that face."

"Yes," Michael gave a very non-John-like smile, "I am not entirely sure why my Father chose to create this particular vessel for me. Perhaps that is a lesson I shall learn with time. For now, I will do all I can for the Winchester family and their friends—both in Heaven and on Earth."

Puriel and Charmeine exchanged confused looks at the name "Winchester," and Michael realized he would have to start testing the waters among his younger siblings. If they were to work with this group of hunters, then they'd soon learn the identity of the fledgling. He only hoped these two did not have a personal history with the well-known brothers.

"I can accompany them to meet with the hunters as long as I am able to return to the bunker by morning. Otherwise, Gabriel will fuss at me for being late to breakfast." Raphael gave a long-suffering sigh, but Michael knew better. With a new fledgling and the return of the Messenger, Raphael was likely torn between being with them and his desire to rebuild Heaven.

"Then go now. Father knows, I do not want to deal with an angry Gabriel. And I am sure Bobby's friends will be eager for updates about the Winchesters." Michael turned to the seraphs who looked ready to burst with questions. "I must ask for the utmost discretion from you both. You will soon learn details about a very delicate situation—specifically, the identity of our newest fledgling."

The seraphs nodded solemnly, but a burst of excitement flowed through their grace. "Of course, sir," Charmeine agreed.

"I do not want word of this reaching the Host until I have determined it safe enough," Michael insisted.

"Sir," Puriel started tentatively, "I am confused. You are acting as though we would know the babe's identity. But how is that possible when the fledgling is a new creation?"

Michael glanced at the Healer and received a nod. "Raphael will explain. Go now—there is much work to be done, and I must finish my conversation with Ingrid."

Charmeine smirked, and Michael felt some of his tension drain to see it directed his way. "We passed her in the hall on our way here. Her stack of reports has grown ten-fold since you last saw her."

Raphael clapped him on the back, then pulled him into a hug. "Good luck, brother. I know how much you enjoy administrative duties and paperwork."

 _You are an ass, Raphael,_ Michael said silently.

The Healer's laugh rolled through the room, startling the seraphs and human. _You are going to have to work on your insults, or else Gabriel will wipe the floor with you. And do not get me started on Samuel's creative language abilities—the child swears worse than Balthazar and Gabriel combined._

 _Father save us! I pray your guidance will influence the child._ Michael hugged his brother, feeling lighter than he had since returning to Heaven. Hope was a powerful thing—and love inspired wondrous amounts of hope.

"I will come find you before I return to Earth," Raphael promised.

"Please do!" Michael said, then turned to the others. "Keep an open mind and a discreet tongue, seraphs. You will learn a great many things today. Bobby Singer—it has been a pleasure to see you again. I look forward to many more conversations with you. Please know that you are always welcome here. If you need me for any reason, just send me a prayer."

"I appreciate it." Bobby pulled a hand out of his pocket and thrust it toward the archangel. Michael stared at it for a moment, not entirely sure if anyone had ever asked to shake his hand before. The hunter cleared his throat. "You're supposed to shake it."

"Yes. Yes, I know," Michael said in a rush, clasping the man's hand. Warm happiness spread through his vessel at the easy gesture. "I meant what I said earlier—you are an amazing soul, Bobby Singer. There are few humans who would have the courage to seek me out, let alone put me in my place."

"Get used to it," Bobby huffed. "If half the things you said are true, then you'll be dealing with the ballsiest group of humans in creation."

"I look forward to it." Michael watched them file out of his office. He saw Ingrid waiting for him, arms heavy with stacks of reports. Sighing, he waved her in.

* * *

Raphael followed Bobby Singer through Heaven's halls. Signs of battles and neglect surrounded them. He saw it in everything from the cracked walls to the few seraphs they passed along the way. He felt it as an ache within his own grace.

They remained mostly silent until they reached an abandoned area. Bobby had been nervous walking among the angels, and Raphael asked him how he normally avoided running into them. He gave a vague explanation involving chalk sigils and hackers.

As they walked, there was a growing tension of curious energy emanating off Puriel and Charmeine. He wondered which one would break the silence and ask the questions that were clearly gnawing at their minds. It didn't take long to learn the answer.

"Sir, what did the Commander mean about the fledgling?" Charmeine asked. She received an elbow to her ribs from Puriel for her trouble, which she quickly returned, knocking the smaller angel into a pile of rubble.

Bobby shot them an amused look, then gestured for Raphael to go ahead and answer. "May as well tell them now. I don't want them freaking out around the hunters—there'll be enough drama as-is without them adding to it."

"Our Father did not make this angel in His traditional way. Instead, He remade a human by blending their soul with His grace. This human is well-known throughout the Host—a man we gravely mistreated since his birth. Our actions and perceptions were wrong, and there is concern that this attitude may linger even after his identity is revealed." Raphael stopped walking and faced the seraphs. "For this reason, we are entrusting only a few of you at a time with this knowledge. I will not tolerate any slander or negativity toward the boy, and you would do well to remember that he is firmly under the protection of Gabriel, Michael, and myself."

"Oh God," Puriel whispered, "it's one of the Winchester brothers, isn't it?"

"Yes," Raphael answered firmly, staring them down. "Father healed Samuel's soul using His own grace. You are the Soul Inspector, Puriel. Tell me—have you ever seen a soul shredded?"

" _Shredded?!_ " Puriel looked sick at the thought. "No, sir. N-never!"

"Samuel spent two centuries trapped in the Cage with two furious archangels." Raphael turned to Charmeine. "You are an Architect. Lucifer's Cage was made from grace and forged in deepest levels of Hell. Do you know what it does to a human soul over that amount of time?"

Charmeine shook her head, unable to speak.

Puriel gasped and his wings flared in alarm. "I…I hadn't thought about it before, but…" he broke off, unable to continue.

"Yes, I don't imagine many of us considered what would happen when he fell with our brothers. Nor did we care." Raphael's own guilt sat heavy in his vessel's chest—a constant ache that had yet to find relief. "Combined with Samuel's attempts to complete the trials to close the gates to Hell and Gadreel subsequently taking him as a vessel without consent, the damage was beyond repair for anyone but God Himself. And even then, it took extreme measures. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," both seraphs answered shakily.

Raphael found no deceit in either angel—only overwhelming sadness and horror. He knew it would take them a while to process the full extent of the information. Like the fact that their newest sibling would carry all the memories and scars of that time. He hoped that their instinctive need to love and protect fledglings overrode any lingering dislike for the Winchesters.

"Good," he finally said. Glancing at Bobby, he cursed himself for being so blunt. The hunter's eyes were filled with devastation at the reminder of the pain his surrogate son had survived. The Healer rested his hand on the man's shoulder, offering as much comfort as he thought might be accepted. "The people we are visiting are all friends and family to the Winchester brothers. They do not know about Samuel's change yet."

Puriel and Charmeine looked at each other, nodding.

"We understand," Charmeine said.

"I know that you have all had to adjust to many extreme changes over recent years." Raphael offered them an encouraging smile. "You have survived without proper guidance and leadership for far too long. But our Father has seen this, and taken action to set us on a new path toward healing and restoration. Now is the time for celebration!" He stepped closer to the seraphs, gently placing a palm on the side of each face. "Our family has a new baby—one who has never known the love of Heaven. It will take all of us to prove we are worthy of his trust, but only one to destroy what progress has been made."

"That 'one' will not be me, sir!" Charmeine promised.

"Nor me!" Puriel added.

Raphael pulled them close and brushed a kiss to their temples. "That is good to know."

"You better not let Sam hear you call him the 'new baby' or you'll have a riot on your hands." Bobby's amused voice reminded them they were not alone.

Raphael chuckled, letting go of his siblings. "Samuel has already heard it from Gabriel."

"And Gabriel survived?"

"He did indeed. Though, I must ask—was Samuel always so adorable when expressing indignant outrage as a child?"

Bobby's laughter echoed through the empty hall. "Well, it's good to know nothing's changed there! He was a moody little feller, for sure. It became less cute when he grew up, but as a kid? He was like an angry kitten who'd spit and jump sideways at ya!"

"I thought the exact same thing," Raphael said, thinking back to his first encounter with Samuel a few days prior.

They followed Bobby to a dusty door that led to an empty storage room. He explained the basics of how they travelled without giving away too many details. The angels watched in wonder as he drew sigils onto the door, activating the grace that formed the foundation. Raphael felt humbled by the reminder of just how much they'd underestimated the ability of humans to adapt and grow.

Before opening the door, the hunter pulled out his walkie-talkie and spoke. "Ash, I'm coming back. And I'm bringing some new friends with me."

The speaker burst with static, then they heard, "Ten-four, good buddy! Team-Grumps is back already, and Team-Prophet is on their way. The others are still out in the communities, but they're up-to-date with what's happening. See ya soon!"

Tucking the communication device back into his bag, Bobby looked at the angels. "Heads up—John Winchester will be there along with several other hunters. And they will all be armed. It's just a precaution, but I thought you should know."

Raphael nodded, and said, "I understand. We will need to earn their trust." He glanced at the seraphs. "Even if weapons are drawn, there will be no retaliation. If a situation were to escalate, we shall simply leave until tempers have cooled. We are here to provide assistance and learn from each other."

The younger angels looked nervous, but nodded their understanding.

Bobby sighed and opened the door. "Welcome to the Roadhouse."

Raphael shivered as he crossed the threshold. He had never felt a personal Heaven modified by humans—it made his wings tingle. It was distracting enough that he didn't immediately register the people present.

Bobby rushed ahead of him to stand between the humans and angels, while the seraphs crowded close to the Healer's back. _Some things never change_ , Raphael thought to himself. It had only been two days since Samuel had done the same while waking from a nightmare.

"Greetings and salutations to our new holy feathered friends!" A man with odd hair stood up from the bar and gave a clumsy bow.

"Quit that, Ash," Bobby muttered, smacking the younger hunter on the shoulder. He cleared his throat. "Everyone, this is Raphael. The two angels with him are gonna help us." Bobby waved his hands in their direction, and blushed. "I didn't quite catch their names. Purel and Shar-something?"

Raphael stepped aside and nudged the angels forward. _Introduce yourselves,_ he said silently to them.

 _Sir, they…they all have angel blades!_ Puriel turned horrified eyes to the archangel.

 _I know. I suspect they helped themselves to one of the weapons' stores when Heaven was vacated. It is no matter—none are drawn. Go ahead and introduce yourself._ Raphael encouraged, though he too was disturbed by the sight of his siblings' weapons in the hands of humans.

"P-Puriel, at your service," the little angel stammered, returning the bow to Ash with much more grace. "I am the Soul Inspector—my job is to evaluate the souls as they enter Heaven."

Charmeine huffed at the bow, and chose to simply nod. "And I'm Charmeine, one of the Architects responsible for maintaining Heaven's structures. We are both here to learn about this new system of communities you've created, and assist in whatever way you need."

"Fan-fuckin-tastic," drawled a gruff voice from a booth in the corner. "How do we know you aren't just gonna zap us all back to our little boxes?"

Raphael recognized the man instantly. "You are John Winchester."

John drained a glass of liquor and slammed it down on the table before rising to his feet. "Good to know my reputation precedes me."

"It does indeed," Raphael said, studying him. He knew only a little about the boys' father, but it was enough to know he should tread carefully. "I have had the pleasure of getting to know your family the last few days."

Silence fell over the room. No one dared to even breathe as John slowly stalked forward. He stopped directly in front of the archangel, completely unthreatened by the towering figure. "What _exactly_ do you mean by that?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"I mean that since my return, I have been on Earth with your sons," he paused, taking an unnecessary breath, "and your wife, Mary."

"Mary's there? With my boys?" John whispered, all signs of posturing gone. He was simply a man, broken again by grief and fear. "Is she okay?"

"She is wonderful. A brilliant woman of immense strength and compassion." Raphael smiled warmly. "Your eldest son played a vital role in reuniting Amara with my Father. And as a gift, Amara returned Mary to Dean."

John glanced at Bobby who nodded in confirmation. Letting out a relieved sigh, John scrubbed at his face with shaky hands. "That…that's good, I guess. If she's gonna be anywhere besides here, I'd want her to be with the boys." His eyes focused on Raphael again. "What about them? How are Sam and Dean? Were they caught up in all that mess with that grace-blast?"

"That is a longer story," Raphael said carefully and gestured for the hunter to take a seat. No one moved.

"He's right," Bobby interceded when the archangel looked to him. "Hey, Ellen—you care to grab a couple bottles of your best whisky? We're gonna need it."

"Why?" John demanded, tense again.

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Bobby reassured. "The boys are fine. There's just a lot that's happened, and story-time always goes better with alcohol."

Raphael watched as Bobby and a young blonde girl pushed two smaller tables together. Ellen carried two bottles to them while a man followed her with several glasses. He set them on the table and held out a hand to the archangel. "Name's Bill Harvelle. That's my wife Ellen, and daughter Jo."

Raphael grinned at the names. "Ah! Ellen and Jo—I have heard your names before! And this is _the_ Roadhouse?" He looked around the space with new eyes.

Jo froze for a second before crossing her arms over her chest. "You've heard of us, huh? Were Sam and Dean telling stories?"

"No, it was another pair of siblings—Alicia and Max Banes. They spoke very fondly of you both."

"Oh lord," Jo mumbled, blushing fiercely.

Her mother laughed. "I bet they had some stories," she said, nudging her daughter.

Another hunter joined them by the table—an older man with a deeply lined face. He carried his own bottle of liquor. "Rufus Turner," he grunted without offering his hand. Raphael nodded to him.

"And I'm Pamela," a dark-haired woman said with a smile. She took a seat and patted the chair next to her in invitation. "Why don't you sit by me, sugar. I won't even need any of this 'Heavenly alcohol' with you by my side—I'll be buzzed in no time."

"Buzzed?" Raphael asked, taking the offered seat. He heard the seraphs make a disgruntled noise at losing their shield.

"Mmm," she hummed, smiling in a way that reminded him of the witch twins, "your grace is delightful."

"Oh. Thank you?" The archangel wasn't sure quite how to respond to the compliment.

"Look out for that one," Bobby said, pushing John into a seat and dropping into the chair next to the Winchester father, "she'll flirt ya right outta your halo."

Ash cleared his throat. "Not that I don't want to get caught up in the personal lives of others, but we've kinda got a lot of work to get started on. Y'all mind if I go ahead and steal these two?" He gestured toward the seraphs huddled together.

Raphael nodded. "Of course! We are at your disposal." Silently, he said, _Remember, little angels—open minds. We have much to learn from the people here._

Puriel and Charmeine tried to smile, following Ash to another set of tables. They were joined by Rufus, Bill, and Jo. Ellen set down the bottles of liquor in front of Bobby before going to sit with her family.

Rufus yelled from across the room, "Pamela! Get your psychic ass over here!"

"Fine," she said under her breath. She gave Raphael a sly smile. "I'll make sure your siblings don't panic themselves into a corner."

"Thank you."

As soon as she was gone, John leaned forward with a glower. "Now, start talking."

"As I said—your wife was returned to life on Earth as a gift from my Aunt to your eldest. But that was not the only gift given that day." Raphael poured a hefty-sized whiskey and pushed it toward John. "Can I assume you know some of the events your children have survived since your passing?"

John threw the drink back, swallowing it all in one go. "I've heard most of the basics. The Apocalypse, Heaven's civil war, Leviathans, Abaddon, the second civil war with Metatron, and the Mark of Cain are all well-known stories up here. Especially once Charlie and Kevin joined us—those two were close to my boys after most of us were long gone."

"Then you know of Samuel's time in the Cage."

"Yeah," John grunted, wincing painfully and pouring another drink.

"Your son sustained great damage at the hands of my brothers. My Father healed him, using His grace to reform the pieces of Samuel's soul."

John remained silent as Raphael told the tale of the past two weeks—how Samuel was now a fledgling and all the Winchesters were under the care of Gabriel and Castiel. The stoicism broke when he reached the part where the boy had been tortured into growing wings at the hands of humans. Raphael paused when John put down the glass and covered his face.

Bobby tentatively rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Johnny?"

The father wiped his eyes and gave a watery grimace. "Yeah," he whispered. "I'm here."

"Do you need a break, John?" Raphael offered.

"No," John answered quickly. "No, I'm fine."

"Ah," Raphael sighed, "I see that word runs in your family like a motto."

"Excuse me?" John asked, confused.

"Samuel is fond of saying he is 'fine' even when it is clear he is not. It is…frustrating."

John gave a small sad laugh. "He's a Winchester alright—no amount of grace can change that fact."

"So I am learning," Raphael said, pouring another drink for the man. "He is doing much better. I healed his injuries as soon as he allowed it. The rest will come with time."

"The rest of what?" John frowned.

"The emotional aspect of his healing. Samuel suffers a great deal from many past traumas," Raphael explained as gently as possible. "As he integrates memories he could not previously access, it stirs up more and more unresolved emotions. Grace does not allow him to push these things to the side, which I believe was his primary coping mechanism as a human. He does not trust easily, including his own instincts."

"What do you mean he's not trustin' his instincts?" Bobby asked, interrupting whatever John was about to say.

"Samuel may have more memories and experiences than any human adult, but his grace is young. By angel-standards, he is considered almost a toddler. Children have needs and instincts that they usually act on without thinking, yet Samuel's adult mind fights against them. His grace reaches out for reassurance and instead of allowing it, he will push us away and insist he is 'fine.' It is painful to watch and not be permitted to intervene."

John scoffed. "I didn't raise them to need their hands held."

Raphael sat back, unprepared for such a statement. "It is not a matter of 'holding their hands.' Children must trust they are safe if they are to thrive. This is true of humans and angels. I am not implying that he is helpless or in need of coddling. But he is in pain, and I do not wish him to suffer simply because he believes he should be strong enough to do so on his own."

"I didn't—" John cut off with a sigh, pushing his drink to the side. "That's not what I meant. I love my boys. Always have, always will. But I wasn't always a good father. I made a lot of mistakes with them—choices I can never take back. I was trying to say that they were raised to rely only on themselves and each other. I _taught_ them not to trust or talk to anyone else. Hell, they couldn't even rely on _me_ half the time."

"I see." Raphael reached for the bottle of liquor and poured a drink for himself. It burned his vessel's throat and chest as it slowly progressed to the stomach. "My Father was similar. In the beginning, He was very close to us all. But then He gave Lucifer the Mark to lock away Amara, and it all changed. My brother changed as the Mark corrupted his grace. We were so blind and naïve."

"What happened?" John asked, refilling the archangel's glass.

"Father ordered Michael to cast Lucifer into the Cage. And when it was done, He left us. We were adrift without guidance." The room faded as Raphael lost himself in memory. "Michael broke under the weight of what he'd done to his closest brother. Gabriel ran away, unable to deal with the fighting. Part of me died that day. We all just wanted it to end—this eternal cold existence. So we found the prophesy that promised paradise at the cost of humanity's destruction, and followed it like a blueprint. We manipulated bloodlines that led to the birth of Michael and Lucifer's true vessels. And those vessels set into motion a series of events no one could predict—all the way up to this very moment."

"Sam and Dean have a way of doing that," Bobby laughed.

"Indeed," Raphael raised his glass to the hunter.

"Not sure how I feel about being compared to God," John said softly.

"Your family was manipulated. Your sons' lives paralleled the archangels they were destined to host. Everything was designed for this purpose. 'As above, so it is below.'" Raphael saw he'd had no effect on the guilt that ate away at the man. "Yes, your choices were your own. But you would never have had to make any such choice had we not pushed you into it."

John nodded without looking up, too busy contemplating the archangel's words. When he did finally meet Raphael's eyes, there was a hint of relief and gratitude hiding behind unshed tears. "So, my boy is a little boy again? And he has his mother and brother with him?" he asked, steering them away from the clearly painful topic.

"Yes," Raphael confirmed, automatically smiling at the thought. "They are all still adjusting. Mary had no memory of time passing—finding out that her sons were both grown was quite a shock, I'm told. And the brothers are learning what it means to have a mother again. Or for the first time, in Samuel's case."

"Wait! Mary doesn't remember?" John's distress was enough to draw the attention of the other hunters and angels. "But she was here with us—with _me!_ How could she not remember?"

"I do not know," Raphael said carefully, frowning in thought, "I will talk to her when I return. Perhaps it is a side-effect of Amara's resurrection. Whatever the reason, I should be able to help her recover those memories. With her permission, of course."

"Please, do!" John was emphatic. "I-I _need_ her to remember me _here_ —not just who I was before her death. She knows who I became after the fire. We had a lifetime to work through that up here together. If that's gone…"

Raphael gently grasped John's hand until the man met his gaze. "I promise—she will know."

"The boys' memories of me are bad enough. I've spent years trying to think of what I'll say to them when they get up here…and I still don't have a clue. What _can_ I say?"

"The words will come to you," Raphael said firmly. "Let your love for them guide your tongue. They already know the story. It has played out many times in their own lives as they've lost people and been sent down dark paths. What they lack is the epilogue—the ability to trust in happy endings."

John looked as though he was seeing the archangel for the first time. He swallowed, speechless with emotion, and simply nodded. Raphael squeezed the man's hand once more and let him go.

He needed to return to the bunker. Time moved like a stream in Heaven—some places ran rapidly while others trickled lazily. It was easy to lose track of the hours and days on Earth while walking through Heaven.

Before he could announce his intentions to leave, the Roadhouse door opened. Three men entered, and Raphael stood at the sight of one familiar face. He had never personally guarded this Prophet, but all angels knew the souls of God's chosen. Everyone else turned as the newcomers entered, sending waves and words of welcome.

"Did we miss anything?" Kevin Tran asked breathlessly. His wide eyes took in the sight of the seraphs, then froze when he spotted Raphael. Clutching his bag tightly to his chest, he whispered, "Oh, shit."

Raphael did not understand the Prophet's reaction—did he fear the presence of archangels? Prophets were the only humans consistently protected by Heaven's greatest warriors. But before he had the chance to ask, Ash spoke.

"Kevin," the computer genius' voice carried a playful tone, "did you do what I told you _not_ to do?"

"Nooo," Kevin answered, blushing brightly.

Light laughter filtered through the room as some of the hunters shook their heads in amusement. Raphael walked toward the Prophet, curious about what was happening. Kevin skirted around the hunters and tried to take the long way around the room.

One of the men who'd accompanied Kevin grabbed the back of his shirt as he passed, pulling him back to them. "Not so fast," the man said.

"Hello, Kevin Tran—Prophet of my Father." Raphael bowed slightly and tried to not appear intimidating.

"Hey," Kevin said shyly, "You're, umm, Raphael, right?"

"I am," he answered.

"Oh man," the Prophet mumbled, "I didn't think _you'd_ be back so soon."

"I…is that a problem?" Raphael looked to the others for clues, but everyone was grinning. He didn't understand.

Sighing, Kevin thrust the bag toward the archangel. Raphael took it slowly and opened the flap. He couldn't stop the deep, rolling laughter from flowing at what he found. Books from his office were crammed together, nearly breaking the bag's seams with their weight and size.

"Sorry," Kevin whispered. "They looked so interesting. I couldn't help myself."

Still laughing, Raphael handed the bag back to the Prophet. "You may borrow them, if you wish."

"Really?!" Kevin's surprise was written all over his face.

"Very few humans can even read these tomes, let alone appreciate them." Raphael turned to the others. "I must take my leave. It is nearly time for breakfast and today is important."

"What's today?" Bobby asked.

Raphael grinned. "It is Samuel's first day of training. Which reminds me—I need to get some books from my office for him. Hopefully, you left a few behind." He winked at the Prophet, making the young man blush even harder.

Bobby stood and shook his hand. "You take care of those boys."

"I will do my best, Bobby Singer."

John also shook his hand. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Can you tell them…tell them I love them?"

"I can, and I will." Raphael leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear, "Remember, John—your son is an angel now. You may be seeing him sooner than you think."

John jerked back in surprise. "You mean he can visit?"

Raphael nodded. "As soon as he is ready, we shall bring him to see you."

"I-I'd appreciate it."

Raphael made his farewells, relieved to see the seraphs relaxed and happy with their new-found friends. In his office, he gathered tomes on Enochian and Heaven's history and a few things he thought might interest his new student. He stopped to say good-bye to Michael, letting him know the meeting with the hunters had been a success and promising to return soon.

And then, he flew back to Gabriel's nest, not wanting to miss a moment of the day with his favorite little family.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
** THUS COMPLETES THE "HEAVEN WAITS FOR YOU" ARC!  
Rest assured, lovelies, we are NOW returning to the bunker!  
Thank you to everyone who continues to read and review and BLESS ALL Y'ALL'S HEARTS :)

Don't forget to come be my friend on Tumblr under the same username: theriverscribe

Be kind, loves!


	30. Teach Your Children pt1

**NOTE: We now return to our previously scheduled program of "Sam & Flock at the Bunker," picking up the morning following "After the Storm."  
** **TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
PART 1: You Who Are On The Road**

* * *

The stillness of sleep lay heavy over the bunker like a thick blanket.

Gabriel strolled the perimeter outside, watching as dawn crept over the horizon. Bare trees stretched like inky rivers into the slowly greying sky. The air smelled of winter.

He felt the angel guard high above the treetops, restless with being on high-alert in the absence of action. Raphael had left hours ago for Heaven, and the seraphs were eager to keep the small flock safe in his stead. Gabriel sent them a silent _hello_ as he walked, and heard their joyful response hum through his grace.

When the sun's pale light finally touched the trees, he made his way back inside to begin breakfast. His flock would be waking soon—they rarely slept past dawn if they were uninterrupted by nightmares. So far, they had managed two such nights in a row.

As Gabriel took out pans and ingredients for their morning meal, he felt Raphael's presence join him in the kitchen. He looked up, intending to ask the Healer about his visit home, and stopped. "Did you ransack all the libraries of Heaven?" he asked, laughing at the sight of his brother.

"No, I only brought the ones I thought might appeal to Samuel," Raphael said, carefully setting the stacks of books on the table. "Do you think it is too many?"

"For that nerd? Nah. He'll love them." Gabriel shook his head in amusement as he started mixing the batter for waffles. "What all did you bring?"

"Just some introductory tomes on Enochian, histories of Heaven and the Host, and a few essays on grace."

Gabriel made a face. "Ugh. You trying to bore him to death?"

"They are only boring to you because you experienced the events first-hand," Raphael said with a mock scowl, "and you are mad they do not contain details of your own exploits. But they should help Samuel learn our history and culture."

"Like I said—boring!"

Raphael rolled his eyes, and Gabriel wondered if his brother was picking up 'bad human habits.' He certainly hoped so. What he wouldn't pay to see the most proper archangel roll his eyes at Michael. Which reminded him…

"So, how was Heaven?" he asked carefully.

Raphael sighed and proceeded to describe the status of their home. It was so much worse than Gabriel had anticipated. He knew it would be bad—he'd felt the empty spaces formerly filled by siblings as soon as he'd returned to life. But to hear it in terms of numbers? Unbelievable. And to hear Raphael describe how Heaven itself was damaged from battles and wars fought in their absence shook him.

"But it was not all bad," Raphael reassured, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. "I met a group of fascinating humans in Heaven who began organizing the souls into communities in our absence. Their system is now being studied by our siblings for further development. Michael was most impressed."

"Souls organizing themselves? Sounds like the humanity I know and love. I never liked those 'personal heavens.'" Gabriel shuddered at the thought of existing in a pocket universe created by others and outside his own control.

"Yes." Raphael paused, and Gabriel turned to see an odd look on the Healer's face. "There were people there who are known to the Winchesters—friends _and_ family."

"Family?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"Namely John Winchester."

"Oh." Gabriel set down the bowl he'd been stirring. He had never met the boys' father, but he'd heard stories over the years. The man had made a name for himself long before Gabriel posed as a janitor at that university. He'd been relieved to find the sons far less ruthless than their father.

"He was," Raphael seemed to search for the right words, "not what I'd imagined."

"No?"

"No. Death has mellowed him, and given him time to gain perspective."

"So, he didn't try to stab you on sight? Wow. Color me impressed," Gabriel snorted. He poured batter over the hot griddle, and started slicing thick slabs of bacon. "Are you going to tell them?"

"Several people asked me to pass along messages. I will not go back on my promise."

"Well, breakfast sure is about to get a lot more interesting."

It didn't take long before they heard Dean and Mary moving about the communal bedroom. Gabriel set the coffee to brew, and threw the bacon into the skillet. He explained the complex art of waffle-making to Raphael, and watched him steadily stack each finished product on a platter.

Dean stumbled in first, wearing his sleep pants and old robe. He grunted a greeting on his way to the coffee. By the time he'd drained half his cup, Mary joined them.

"Good morning," she said with a yawn. Dean handed her a steaming mug, already fixed to her liking, and she kissed his cheek. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Dean beamed even as he blushed. "You're welcome, mom," he mumbled.

"Where's Sam and Morpheus? Are they still asleep?" Gabriel asked.

"Sam's drooling worse than the dog," Dean huffed. "Although, I think Morph is faking it. Little shit worked his way up to _my_ pillow sometime during the night. Cas thinks it's funny, but we'll see who's laughing when his trench coat is covered in fur and slobber."

"Whoa! What's all this? Was there a sale?" They turned to see Mary gawking at the book-covered table.

"Just a few books I brought for Samuel," Raphael answered. His voice was steady, but Gabriel could feel the undercurrent of nervousness flowing through his brother.

"Brought from where?" Mary asked. "And when? Last night?"

"Yes, I returned to Heaven for a short while once everyone fell asleep. I needed to check in with Michael and the Host. I brought some materials to help with Samuel's training. I thought he might prefer to read them rather than listen to history lectures."

"Good idea. Sammy's never been too fond of listening in general." Dean smirked into his coffee cup as though enjoying a private joke.

"Maybe you just never said anything interesting." Sam's sleepy voice drew everyone's attention. One arm was wrapped around his midsection in an odd way, and Gabriel almost asked if he felt okay when he noticed a fluffy white ear sticking up from inside the boy's hoodie. Castiel stood behind them, a fond smile on his face.

"Samshine!" Gabriel moved from around the counter to comb his fingers through Sam's bed-head and shamelessly peek at the tiny dog. "How are you two doing this morning, hmm? Sleep well?"

Sam yawned and his arm tightened slightly around Morpheus. "Yeah. Probably coulda slept longer but _someone_ decided to loudly fling his blankets around before leaving the room." He sent a death glare toward Dean.

"Hey!" Dean retorted with fake anger, "Maybe I'd have been more courteous if your dog hadn't decided to take over my pillow when he had a whole room full of beds!"

"He's not _my_ dog, Dean," Sam shot back.

"'Not my dog' my ass," Dean grumbled, "You're the one carrying him around inside your shirt."

"He's cold," Sam mumbled, looking down into his shirt with a smile.

 _Tell your brother that I could shift into my larger form if he'd prefer._ Morpheus's voice rang clear through the angels' minds, and Sam laughed.

"What? What did he say?" Dean asked, looking at all the people he knew could answer him. Sam relayed the message and Dean's face went slightly pale. "No! No, it's cool. He's fine in your shirt. Just don't complain to me if you end up with fleas."

A high-pitched growl emerged from Sam's hoodie, and Dean made a hasty retreat back to the coffee maker.

"Is breakfast ready?" Sam asked, eyes lighting up at the sight of the waffles. Gabriel made a note of his reaction—it was hard finding something other than fruit to entice the boy to eat in the morning.

"Yup! Go grab a seat," he said, nudging Sam toward the table, "and ask Morpheus what he'd like to eat. Oh, Raphael—please find another home for those dusty things."

 _I'll eat whatever Sam eats,_ Morpheus told the angel.

"Coming right up!" Gabriel called back.

Sam's eyes went comically wide with awe at the sight of the books covering the table. He clamored to climb up his chair, careful not to smash Morpheus. Trailing a finger lightly over the Enochian symbols etched into the closest cover, he asked, "What are they?"

"They're books, dumbass," Dean answered, taking the seat next to his brother. Sam kicked him under the table.

"They are for you, Samuel. Where would you like me to put them?" Raphael moved to stand by the table.

"For me?" Sam sounded surprised. He opened the book whose cover he'd been tracing. It suddenly flipped shut again, causing him to snatch his hand back and jump.

"No reading before breakfast!" Gabriel teased as he placed a plate of food in front of Sam and a saucer full of bacon and eggs. He then waved a hand over the stacks. The books shimmered and disappeared. "There. I sent them to the tables in the library. You can look at them later. I doubt you want to get syrup all over their pages anyway. Raphael may revoke your Heavenly library card."

Sam glanced shyly at the Healer. "You brought me books from Heaven?"

Raphael simply nodded and took a seat. Castiel and Mary joined them at the table, each carrying a plate of food. Gabriel brought a tray with syrup, butter, and a canister of coffee to set in the middle of everyone. "Alright, eat up everyone," he said, grabbing the syrup to pour over Sam's waffle.

"No syrup, thanks," Sam said as he covered his plate with his hands to shield it.

"But they're waffles!" Gabriel stared at the boy in horror. "That's why it's got all the little grooves—to hold pools of syrup and butter! That's why they're better than pancakes!"

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes as he began to cut the pile of berries into tiny pieces and spread them across the waffle.

Dean grabbed the syrup out of the disgusted archangel's hand. "Give it up. I told you, he doesn't listen. And he likes to be super stubborn when it comes to food." He grunted when Sam kicked him again.

"So, Raphael," Mary said from the end of the table opposite of Sam, "do you have to return to Heaven for good or were you just visiting?"

Sam paused, fork midway between his plate and his mouth. His face remained schooled, hiding the distress that his young grace freely expressed. Gabriel ran his palm gently over the puffed wings, smoothing them back into place. He tried to cover the movement by snagging a bit of bacon off the saucer and leaning closer to offer it to Morpheus. _Relax, kiddo._

"I will be dividing my time between here and Heaven. There is much to be done there, and they will need my help in healing all the seraphs." Raphael answered, then turned to Sam. "I would like to begin teaching you how to control your grace soon, Samuel. Your wings are developing faster than I'd anticipated. Most fledglings would have a few centuries of experience perfecting the basics of their grace before sprouting wings, but you were not given that time."

"Good thing Sammy's a fast learner," Dean praised with a wink, "The kid was practically fluent in Latin by the time he was eleven or twelve."

Morpheus wriggled around so he was sitting upright on Sam's lap. He ate the bacon from Gabriel's hand, licking the archangel's fingers clean seconds later. _This is very good, thank you._ Morpheus pawed at the zipper on Sam's hoodie, pushing it down enough so he could see past the material. Gabriel poured Sam a cup of coffee.

Sam nodded his gratitude. He glanced at Dean, mumbling, "Yeah, because I had _such_ a choice," as he sipped his drink.

Dean ignored him, turning instead to Gabriel as the archangel took a seat between Raphael and Mary. "So, all those books are for angel-school? Bet you never thought you'd be back in training again, huh Sam?" Dean reached over to ruffle Sam's hair, but had to make a hasty retreat to avoid getting stabbed with a fork. "Whoa, dude! Guess your reflexes are still good. Maybe I shouldn't have woken you up so early." His tone was joking, but his expression showed concern for his brother's reaction.

Gabriel watched, keeping his own worry over Sam's rapidly deteriorating mood in check. Sam was not aggressive by nature—it usually only manifested when he felt nervous over a lack of control. But the boy loved learning, so Gabriel wasn't entirely sure where this was coming from.

"No stabbing at the breakfast table, boys," Mary said into her coffee.

"Stabbing's not allowed, but the dog can have a plate on the table?" Dean asked, still bewildered by the whole situation.

"You shut your mouth, Dean Winchester," Mary snapped playfully, "Morpheus can prance around the center of the table and eat off all our plates as far as I'm concerned. Just look at that face!" She blew a kiss to the tiny speck of fluff that was gingerly pulling a slice of bacon from his plate.

Morpheus paused in his attempts at not making a mess, and stood at attention, yipping in excitement. Sam grabbed him before he could leap onto the table. Dean hunched over his own plate protectively, scowling at the canine.

Raphael chuckled at their antics, though Gabriel could feel his brother's concern mirror his own. "Fledglings do not have 'school' in the way humans understand the concept. They mostly learn through osmosis, from their caretakers, when they are still formless balls of infant light. Our histories are sung to them in Enochian, and learning control is more a matter of guiding their instincts than teaching specific methods."

Dean perked up. "Oh, man. Suddenly, I'm picturing you singing to Sam while you rock him to sleep or something. Please tell me I get to watch." Sam landed a well-placed kick to Dean's knee, making the hunter yelp in pain and scoot away in his chair. "If you don't quit kicking me, I'm gonna stop sitting next to you!"

"Then quit being a jerk, Dean!"

"I will—just as soon as you quit being a little bitch about everything!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Mary said, frustrated. "What has gotten into you two today?"

Dean startled at the sound of her voice, sitting up straighter and looking sufficiently chastised. Sam, however, sunk lower in his chair as his face flushed. Gabriel thought it from embarrassment, but the white-knuckle grip on Sam's fork told him the boy was agitated.

Raphael cleared his throat. "No, we will not be teaching Sam in the traditional way. I suspect it will be more like meditation than lessons at times, or more involved grooming."

Castiel sipped his coffee from beside the hunter, elbowing him when he opened his mouth to respond. Dean just rolled his eyes and focused on stuffing his face. "And how was Heaven, Raphael?" the seraph asked nervously, likely knowing the answer would be bad.

Everyone grew quiet as they waited for his response.

Raphael took a deep breath. "It was…mixed. While it was wonderful to reconnect with our siblings again, the state of Heaven and the Host was devastating to witness."

"What's wrong?" Mary asked quietly.

"War and neglect greatly diminished our numbers, and it seems like the fall burnt the wings of those who remain. Heaven itself is near ruins—whole sections have been abandoned without those skilled enough to make repairs."

"Oh, that's awful!" Mary gasped.

Gabriel swallowed his own response. He'd heard some of the gory details from Castiel when he'd first arrived, but he hadn't seen it. Looking at their younger brother across the table, he saw the effect the words had on him as well. Castiel's face was grey, and he kept his gaze fixed firmly on his coffee cup.

"Yes," Raphael said with a solemn nod, then smiled, "but not everything about my trip was negative. I met some old friends of yours." His gaze flickered from Mary to her sons.

Gabriel wanted to smash his face against the table. Raphael did not understand de-escalation at _all_. This was probably not the best time to bring up seeing John and the others. But it was too late now.

"Old friends?" Dean asked. "Of _ours_? Like who? We've got a lot of dead friends."

"I found myself rather partial to a Bobby Singer," Raphael answered warmly.

"Bobby!?" Both boys wore identical expressions of surprised glee.

"Yes," Raphael's smile grew brighter, "He is a remarkable man. And quite fond of everyone here—excluding us archangels. Sorry, Gabriel. He seemed very perplexed as to why your presence was permitted by Dean."

Dean snorted. "Like I could get rid of him at this point."

"Yeah, good luck with that, Deano!" Gabriel smirked. "I knew making nine bacon-themed dishes at that first breakfast would win you over."

"But not me, right?" Mary asked, confusion painting her face. "I mean, I don't know a Bobby Singer."

All eyes turned to Raphael when he let out a sigh. "Actually, that was something I need to discuss with you, Mary. You did, in fact, know Bobby Singer, although it appears you lost some memories when Amara resurrected you."

"What?" she asked in alarm. "What do you mean? What memories?"

"From your time in Heaven," he explained. "Is there anything you remember between your death and resurrection?"

"No, nothing," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, with your permission, I can examine your mind later and see if there is anything I can do to retrieve what's been lost. Bobby wasn't the only one asking about you."

"Who else was there?" Dean demanded. "You said 'friends' plural."

"I met several in a place called 'The Roadhouse.' A bar maintained by a family by the name of Harvelle."

"Ellen and Jo!" Sam said, smiling sadly.

Raphael nodded. "And her husband, Bill. Then there was a psychic, Pamela. And Rufus Turner."

Dean laughed. "Let me guess—Pam flirted with you and Rufus carried his favorite whiskey while grumbling at everyone."

"I would say that is an accurate assessment of both persons. The leader of this group of rebellious souls—they called themselves 'Heaven's Hunters,' I believe—was an odd young man who went by the name Ash. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant—he's figured out how to manipulate grace using a computer of his own making. And now, they are liberating the souls from their personal Heavens and forming entire communities!"

"That's Ash for ya!" Dean said proudly. "He'd already worked out how to skip through the different Heaven's during the Apocalypse."

"Did you meet anyone else?" Sam asked. Gabriel noted that the boy was bracing himself—like hearing the names of those who'd passed were causing him more pain than joy.

"Yes. Your prophet-friend, Kevin Tran, was among them as well. Cheeky young man tried to smuggle half my library back to their headquarters while I was present. I let him keep them. I can't imagine the hardship he faced being a prophet with no archangel protection."

"You got _no_ idea," Dean mumbled, refilling his coffee. The hunter glanced at his brother, frowning at how subdued Sam had become. "It's good to know all our friends are raising a little hell up in Heaven, isn't it Sam?"

"It'd be better if they were still raising it here on Earth," Sam answered without looking up.

Dean sighed, and refilled his brother's coffee cup as a peace-offering. Sam rewarded him with a small smile.

 _Quit drawing things out and just tell them, Raphael!_ Gabriel said privately to the archangel. It wasn't silent enough, though, because both Sam and Castiel turned to look at him—one worried, one curious.

Raphael shifted in his seat, drawing everyone's attention. "There were several others—some were off on missions, and I didn't get everyone's names. But one asked me to pass on a message—your father, John."

There was an audible intake of breath from all three Winchesters. They stared in shock at Raphael without speaking for over a minute. Even Castiel looked taken aback by the news.

"What was his message?" Dean finally asked, his voice thick with too many emotions.

"He wanted me to tell you that he loved you all. And he asked that I help Mary with her missing memories—it distressed him to think that you had lost the time you'd spent together in Heaven. But he was relieved to know both of his boys were reunited with their mother." Raphael kept his voice as calm and soothing as possible.

"Does he know about me? That I'm," Sam gestured to himself awkwardly, "different now?"

"Yes. I explained to them the basics of what led to your transformation. John was much more concerned about what led to your need for healing, and the injuries you'd since sustained, than the fact that you are now a fledgling."

Sam set down his fork with measured control. "I-I'm not very hungry. I think I'm gonna take a look at the books. Did you say they're in the library?" he asked blankly, climbing off his seat before anyone could protest.

"Umm, yeah," Gabriel answered, "they're on the tables there."

Sam nodded without looking up. "Do you want me to bring your plate, Morpheus?" he whispered into his shirt.

 _No, I am done._

Sam scurried out of the room with the small dog tucked back into his hoodie.

"I will go with him," Raphael said as he started to rise.

"No," Castiel stopped him with a raised hand and stood himself, "I will go." He looked at the Healer with sad eyes. _There are aspects of Sam's reaction that you do not understand yet._

Raphael reluctantly conceded with a nod, settling back down in his chair as Castiel hurried from the room. _That did not go as well as I'd anticipated,_ the Healer said to Gabriel.

Gabriel glared at him out of the corner of his eye. _Bro—they almost stabbed each other with eating utensils. What made you think that was the signal for telling them about Heaven?_

 _I thought hearing that their father loved them might lighten the mood._

Gabriel turned to look more fully at his brother. _You definitely need to read up on your Winchester history, Raph. His dying words to Dean were an order to either save Sam or kill him—without giving any context or reason._

Raphael looked stricken. _I did not know this._

 _I think Sam still believes, on some level, that him being "not human" means there's something dirty or wrong with him. It's something we've been working on._

 _I see._

"So," Dean started, looking like he very much knew he was interrupting their silent conversation, "did Dad try to stab you?"

Raphael smiled, and forced himself to relax. "No, he didn't. And as you are not the first person to ask me that, I shall count myself honored." He chuckled softly. "Actually, he poured me a drink."

Dean's eyebrows shot up higher than Gabriel had ever seen. "Well, this I gotta hear."

* * *

Sam walked on auto-pilot all the way to the library. He didn't even realize Morpheus was talking to him until he felt tiny teeth nip at his arm through the hoodie. The specter of John followed him, telling him to never come back.

 _Sam? Sam! Can you hear me, pup?_ Morpheus' voice, softer in his smaller form, finally reached Sam's ears.

"Sorry, Morpheus," he whispered, "Sorry, I was…distracted."

Morpheus twisted in his arms so he stood with his front paws propped against Sam's chest. _It's okay. Do you mind putting me down now?_

Sam stared down into dark eyes and nodded. "Sorry, yeah. Of course." He gently extracted the small dog from his clothes and placed him on the floor.

 _I am going to shift now, okay Sam?_ Morpheus stated, adding the question to the end and waiting for Sam's consent.

"S-sure. Whatever you need to do is fine, Morpheus." Sam backed away as the small dog shook himself. The swirl of fur billowed outward until the massive canine he'd seen the night before towered above him. He gulped down the urge to call for one of the others as Morpheus took small steps toward him.

 _Calm down, pup. I'm still the one you just now carried in your shirt—the same one who ate with you at the table, and who slept by your side, and who pushed your brother off his pillow._

"You did that on purpose?" Sam blurted out, forgetting he was supposed to be nervous.

Morpheus took one last step, bringing him face-to-face with Sam. He huffed a laugh and Sam felt the hot air blow through his hair. _Of course! The blue-eyed angel found it very amusing. You can ask him—he's approaching this room now._

Sam turned in time to see Castiel appear at the doorway. Those blue-eyes went comically wide when they landed on Morpheus, and his wings fluffed out in alarm. But he quickly collected himself, tucking his wings out of sight and nodding to them both. "I, umm, just wanted to make sure you are alright, Sam. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Morpheus was just explaining how you'd approved of him stealing Dean's pillow last night," Sam explained, casually sidestepping the first part of Castiel's statement.

The unexpected change in topic made Castiel pause, then smile. "Ah, yes. I felt it was an appropriate retribution for the way your brother acted last night. And completely worth it to see Dean's face this morning. Although, I regret his extended reaction woke you up—for that, I apologize."

"Nah, it's fine, Cas." Sam waved it off. The stacks of books caught his eye and he walked over to the closest stack. He counted at least twenty of them spread out across the table. "Wow. I can't believe how many books Raphael brought me to read. And these are just to get started. Do you think I'll have to read the complete history of Heaven and the Host? Because that might take me longer to read it than it took you guys to live through it."

"No, Sam," Castiel chuckled and looked over the books. "Besides—these are not the complete histories anyway. Raphael only brought introductory books that highlight main events. The complete histories would not fit on this continent."

Sam blinked in shock. He'd travelled all over America, and knew the vast size of the country. They'd even occasionally slipped across the northern and southern borders to visit Canada and Mexico. But he could not begin to grasp how many books it would take to overflow the continent.

"I guess I should start reading," he mumbled, reaching for the closest book.

"Wait, Sam," Castiel stopped him. When Sam didn't look at him, the seraph crouched down until they were eye-level. "I know Raphael may have less tact than myself at times, but he does not lie or bend the truth. If he says that John accepted your new form, then he means it."

"But that's not what he said."

Castiel frowned. "What?"

Sam finally brought his eyes up to meet the seraph's gaze. "He didn't say my dad 'accepted' me being an angel. He said that dad was more concerned about my injuries than my being an angel. That's not the same thing."

"He said John wanted you all to know he loves you," Castiel insisted.

"Yeah, well," Sam gave a resigned sigh, "love's never stopped him from 'doing the right thing' before."

"What does that mean?"

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Cas. Don't worry about it."

Castiel's hand grasped Sam's chin and brought their faces closer together. " _What_ does that _mean,_ Sam?" he asked again, more firmly the second time.

Sam sucked in a breath. "I-It means that _love_ didn't stop my dad exiling me from the family when I chose Stanford. And after we'd reunited, it didn't stop him from telling Dean to either save or kill me as his dying wish! I really doubt _death_ has changed him that much—not when he crawled his way out of hell after a century of torture to _continue_ his revenge against Azazel!"

A soft, low growl from behind Sam reminded him that they were not alone. Morpheus pressed a cold nose into his hair, like he was trying to offer comfort. Somehow, it helped—the tightness in Sam's chest eased as the nuzzling continued.

"You think John will reject you for having grace now?" Castiel asked sadly.

Sam shrugged, unsure how he _himself_ felt about having grace. The fact remained—he was no longer human. He wasn't even a normal angel. It seemed he would remain a freak no matter _what_ species tried to reshape him to their image.

Castiel's hand released Sam's chin. Sam closed his eyes as fingers traced along his jaw and up to his temples. He felt the large palms gently frame his face and a soft kiss press against his forehead. "I wish I could speak for your father, and reassure you with certainty that he accepts you. But I do not know John, and have not met the man he's become in Heaven. However, I can tell you that _our_ Father made you perfectly—both as a human and as an angel."

Sam bit his lip to keep his emotions under control. "Chuck is kinda everyone's 'Father' though, since He technically made all of creation."

"Do not sell yourself short, Sam Winchester. Yes, Chuck is Father to all, but that does not negate the fact that He hand-crafted you with His own grace. He has only done so four other times—with the other archangels. He is as much your Father as John, and not in a metaphoric sense."

Sam's breath caught in his throat, all control of emotions evaporating with Castiel's proclamation. It was hard enough to accept the idea that the angels might see him as a sibling—what was he supposed to do with a literal "God the Father?" His relationship with John had been complicated at best. He couldn't imagine trying to meet the expectations of another father, let alone the Universe's Creator.

Castiel must have seen something on Sam's face because his eyes softened. "I imagine this is not an easy concept to comprehend, let alone accept. But don't worry—you have time." He pressed a second kiss to Sam's crown. "Why don't you and Morpheus go outside for a walk. These books will still be here later. Go get some fresh air, and I will join you in a little while to groom your wings."

"You'll let me go outside alone?" Sam asked in surprise. The others barely let him go to the bathroom alone these days. To go outside without one of the angels or his brother or mother almost felt like running away.

Morpheus' head muzzle butted against Sam's back, knocking him straight into Castiel's chest with an audible "oomph." _You will not be alone. Even in my smaller form, I am not defenseless._

"There is also the angel guard, although they will only make their presence known if absolutely necessary. You should not see them," Castiel assured him.

Sam winced at the reminder of the other angels lurking in their treetops. "Right," he said, trying to keep any trace of sarcasm from reaching his voice. "Maybe you should give us a head-start, Cas. I don't think the others will be too happy to hear I'm outside without one of them there to hold my hand."

Castiel nodded and stood back up. "I will do my best. Dean should be easy enough to deal with—I'll simply tell him that Morpheus might start sleeping in his larger form on the bed until Dean trusts that he's capable of keeping you safe."

Sam found himself smiling at the idea. Turning to Morpheus, he came face-to-face with a large wolfish grin. "Maybe we should do that anyway."

 _Fear can be healthy,_ Morpheus agreed. _Come on, pup. We will go for a walk. And then, I will teach you to ride._

Sam's mouth dropped open. "What? Ride what?"

Morpheus' teeth snagged the collar of Sam's shirt, pulling him toward the doorway. _Me. I cannot carry you in my mouth, so you will learn to sit on my back. Don't worry—I've taught all my two-legged charges how to ride._

Sam had no response. He allowed himself to be pulled along, suddenly glad he hadn't eaten much for breakfast. _Dean's never gonna let me live this down_ , he mentally groaned. With that in mind, there was no room for thoughts about disappointed fathers.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: This arc will heavily explore the boys' childhoods in regards to their training and relationship to John. Not everything is positive, but it is something the brothers must come to terms with if they are to heal and have a healthy relationship with their dad in the future. So, please do not take this as "John-bashing." I recognize that he is a complex character who's life was manipulated as much as the boys-he made mistakes, but he loved them and he is a different person now in Heaven than he was on Earth. But those mistakes still need to be addressed-not because the boys are gonna have a big blow-out confrontation, but because they need to recognize the effect growing up had on them as children and adults.  
Sam's training is going to bring up several issues for him specifically: 1) how much he hated training as a kid the first time around, 2) how he views himself as an angel, and 3) his relationships with the others in his family/flock (especially Gabriel, in terms of defining roles-is he a parent/mentor/friend/authority figure?). This won't be ALL about John, but the roots of all these other issues stem from their childhood.  
ANYWAY, that's enough explaination! If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to message me! **

**AND ON THAT NOTE (literally lol), THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR PATIENCE! I know most of you wanted to stay at the bunker and leave Heaven to its own devices, but it'll be important to know what's happening there for REASONS!**

 **Come be my friend on Tumblr under the same name, TheRiverScribe!**

 **AND LEAVE ME A COMMENT, YA HEATHENS! *MORPHEUS KISSES***


	31. Teach Your Children pt2

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
PART 2: …Must Have a Code That You Can Live By**

Castiel returned to the kitchen with a heavy heart. As an angel, he wished he could shoulder more of Sam's burdens. But how could he carry another's self-doubt and insecurity? He had plenty of his own to bear, and if it were possible, he'd make room for more.

He found the kitchen livelier than expected. The tension from earlier still remained, though everyone seemed determined to push through it. Dean was mid-story about a time John had caught him drunk as a teen in a New York City bar. Mary tried to look more amused than concerned, but Castiel saw through her smile. Even Gabriel's laugh sounded forced.

The story ended abruptly when Dean caught sight of him in the doorway. "How's he doing, Cas? Buried in books yet?" he asked, going for casual but his worry was easy to read.

Castiel rejoined them at the table, taking slow steps to give himself time to choose his words. "Sam is…struggling. I sent him and Morpheus outside for a walk."

"Alone?" Mary asked, almost dropping her coffee mug in alarm.

"No," Castiel explained carefully, already prepared for the arguments, "Sam is with Morpheus, and they will both be protected by the angel guard. We can join them in a while, but Sam enjoys solitude when he gets overwhelmed—which we have not allowed since his change. And I considered his eagerness to go outside at all to be a step in the right direction considering his hesitance to do so since his kidnapping."

"He's right, Mom." Dean said, although he didn't look happy either. "Even when it's just been the two of us, we've still made time to be apart. He'd do research while I'd interview witnesses. We'd take turns doing food runs so the other could shower or just kick-back for a bit. Honestly, I can't remember the last time we've constantly been together like we are now. Probably not since we were both kids."

"No wonder Sammy was ready to stab you with a fork." Gabriel grimaced.

"Believe me—the feeling was mutual." Dean drained his coffee. "I wouldn't be surprised if he insists on going back to separate rooms within a day or two."

Gabriel looked sick, and Castiel didn't blame him. The week before the kidnapping had been awful in terms of sleep in the bunker. The stress of Sam's nightmares had kept everyone on edge.

"God, I hope not," Mary whispered.

"Separate rooms?" Raphael asked.

The concept was foreign to the archangel. While angels didn't technically sleep, Castiel knew the young ones still required rest to recharge and grow. In Heaven's nursery, they were bundled together in near-constant contact with other grace-beings. The idea of a fledgling isolating themselves felt wrong—it just didn't happen.

"Yeah, Sam's only allowing himself to sleep in the communal bedroom because he's still recovering from the kidnapping," Gabriel explained. "Dean's probably right. Once the kid's feeling more like himself, he'll go back to claiming his independence by sleeping alone."

Raphael stared at them all. "What does sleeping alone have to do with independence?"

"You kidding me, Doc?" Dean laughed. "Sam stopped sharing a bed with me by the time he was eight years old unless Dad made him. Otherwise, he'd insist on a cot or the sofa if the room had one available. By the time he was a teenager, he'd sleep on the floor before sharing a bed with me."

"I do not understand. _What_ does one's sleeping location have to do with independence? Can you not be independent _and_ sleep close to your family? Does it not provide warmth and safety and comfort?" Raphael turned to Mary. "I know your sons grew up in unique circumstances. Surely, the rest of humanity does not adhere to these same strange standards."

Mary gave a strained smile. "Hate to break it to you, but they do. It's pretty normal in Western cultures to only sleep with those you're romantically involved with once you reach a certain age with only occasional exceptions."

"But Samuel is a fledgling. He _needs_ to be close to others while resting—especially angels. His grace will demand it soon, and he has already proven capable of pushing aside those needs and instincts. It is not healthy." Raphael shook his head, determination visibly building in his own grace.

Castiel worried the archangel might fly off to confront Sam about the issue this very moment, but Gabriel intervened.

"Calm down, bro. Nothing's happened yet." Gabriel playfully tugged at the Healer's wings, then smoothed them over. "We have time to strategize. And even if Sam decides to go back to his old room, he won't be alone—I seriously doubt Morpheus would allow himself to be separated at this point."

Raphael settled back in his seat, momentarily satisfied that they had options. But everyone could see the wheels turning in his head. Castiel wondered whose stubbornness would win in the end—the archangel or the fledgling.

* * *

Sam led Morpheus out to the bunker's backyard. It was strange to think they'd only just met the night before. The canine's presence by his side felt completely natural—like he'd been there for years instead of hours.

A voice in the back of his mind told him to question the sudden acceptance—after all, Sam's history of following his instincts concerning supernatural creatures had often ended in disaster. He needed to be especially careful that their newest addition didn't ostracize Dean. As funny as his brother's reactions had been so far, Sam knew it could easily spiral into jealousy and anger.

 _You've got some deep thoughts there, pup._ Morpheus nuzzled his hair as they walked along the tree-line.

The frost-covered grass crunched beneath their feet, and Sam looked down at Morpheus' paws. "Does the cold hurt your feet? Should we sit by the fire instead of walk?" he asked instead of responding to the canine's comment.

Morpheus snorted in amusement. _Do I look cold to you?_

"Well, no. But your paws…"

 _My paws could handle pure ice and snow for days at a time. Do not worry about me. I will tell you if there is a problem with any activity or location._

Sam frowned. "You were cold this morning," he insisted.

 _I was lazy,_ Morpheus confessed.

Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but cut off in a gasp when he felt a tongue lick across the juncture between the side of his neck and shoulder. It tickled, causing a full-body shiver. "Hey!" he tried to sound firm, but it came out more of a squeal.

 _What would you like to do, Sam? Walk in the woods or stay in the yard?_

"Actually," Sam wiped the slobber off his neck while glancing around the yard, "I need to get back into my running routine. This body has no muscle or training at all, and I haven't had the chance to test my stamina yet."

 _You like to run?_ Morpheus trotted around to face Sam.

"I didn't always," Sam said with a wry grin, "but it grew on me as I got older. By the time I went to Stanford, I loved it. When we found this place, I had my own path and everything for the first time—so much better than random motel parking lots, or nameless streets." He walked over to the firepit and sat on one of the blankets still laid out on the ground.

Morpheus followed, watching him start his stretches. _Why are you worried about having more muscle?_

Sam shrugged. "You didn't see me before—I used to be taller than Raphael and had more muscle mass than Dean." He paused in his stretches and looked at Morpheus. "Don't tell him I said that."

His muscles were all tight from not being used properly, and it took a while before Sam felt ready to try running. Or jogging, at least—it probably wasn't a good idea to rush straight into a sprint with a relatively new body. Standing, Sam did a final stretch with his back and looked out over the yard to map his usual route.

 _Where do you normally run here?_

"There's a natural path through the woods that I widened a couple years ago. I got tired of bloodying my legs on thorny branches." There was no way he'd be able to run the full five-to-seven-mile course on his first day, but maybe he could do two. "You gonna follow?"

 _Like you could stop me._ Morpheus chuffed at the idea of staying behind.

"Well, let's go," Sam said, starting at a light jog, "before the others come out and decide I need a nap."

They moved at a light and steady pace without the need for conversation. The sun gleamed off the frost, not yet warm enough to melt. Sam's sneakers slid in some places and he forced himself to go slower when the path was covered in leaves or grass.

It didn't take long for the sweat to start pouring down his face and neck. His muscles screamed from lack of use, but he pushed further. _I've not even gone half a mile yet,_ he scolded himself, _I can still see the yard for fuck's sake!_

He hadn't even been this out of shape as a six-year-old the first time around—John Winchester had seen to that. The brothers were used to running laps around motel parking lots in the pre-dawn hours before they entered kindergarten. Dean had always run alongside him, turning it into a game when Sam got too tired or frustrated.

Sam smiled at the memory even as sweat ran into his eyes. As a child, he'd appreciated his brother's presence and infectious enthusiasm. It was the only thing that got him through most of those mornings. But looking back on those times with much older eyes allowed him to see something very different—a young boy desperate to keep his even younger brother from complaining and angering their father.

His smile faded as he thought again of John. Sam had only questioned their morning routines on rare occasions. When he turned four, he'd been deemed old enough to start basic training. He remembered feeling excited at being allowed to join Dean in his "big boy" activities. But within a week, that joy had soured from sore limbs and exhausted tears.

One morning, Sam refused to get out of bed no matter how much Dean begged and cajoled. John's sudden appearance brought an end to the argument. He'd thrown the blankets off Sam and made him run double. Even Dean was near-tears when they'd finished.

Shaking his head, Sam brought himself back to the present. His lungs burned, and he blamed the stinging in his eyes on the sweat. As he wiped a sleeve across his face, he missed the tree root on the path. He landed on the hard ground with an undignified yelp, confused and half-blind from his stupid hood.

The sound of rapid footsteps drew near, and Sam's panic overwhelmed any pains from the fall. He yanked the hood back, ignoring the sharp burn in his palms, and almost screamed. Concerned blue eyes blazed within a sea of white only inches from Sam's face.

 _Are you hurt?_ Morpheus asked as he sniffed and inspected every part of Sam he could reach.

"I-I'm fine," Sam panted, unable to catch his breath, "I…there was sweat…I couldn't see." He tried to stand, but his legs shook. Heat seared his right knee, and he looked down to see a sizeable gash in his pants where blood oozed freely.

Morpheus circled him, then laid on the ground facing the way they came. _Get on. I'll take us back._

"What?" Sam asked, dumbfounded. He'd hoped the whole "I'll teach you to ride" thing had been a joke.

 _Up, pup. Your knee and hands need healing, and we're too far out for you to walk back now. So—up!_ He said the word like a human ordering an animal to "sit" and "stay." He said it like someone expecting to be obeyed.

"You gonna tell me to 'roll over and play dead' too?" Sam asked, only half-joking.

Morpheus turned a baleful eye on him. _Only if you prove smart enough to grasp the concept of 'up.' Which you have not. Do I need to repeat it?_

"No!" Sam frowned indignantly, and looked at Morpheus' back. The canine was massive, even while laying down. "Am I supposed to just climb onto your back?"

 _Yes, unless you'd prefer to stand. Then I could walk under you in my smaller form and shift._ There was humor in his deep rumble, but also a hint of truth—Morpheus would do it if Sam didn't climb.

"You're as bad as my brother," Sam grumbled as he clumsily pulled himself onto the canine. Blood from his scraped palms left streaks of red across the pure white fur. "I don't know why you two aren't best friends. You're both bossy."

 _Maybe he and I are too alike. Plus, I prefer him unsettled and on-edge—he's more amusing that way._ Morpheus rumbled with laughter and Sam felt the vibrations through the fluff. He hoped this wasn't a mistake. _Alright, you won't be riding me like a horse. Bend your knees, and grip with your thighs. We'll work on technique at various speeds another time—for now, just try not to fall. If you feel unbalanced, lay forward and hold my neck. Understand, pup?_

"'m not a pup," Sam muttered, but obeyed. His right knee hurt to bend, but it wasn't intolerable.

 _I'm going to stand up now. Ready?_

Sam grunted his acknowledgment, then gasped as he rose in the air. The movement was smooth, but still disorienting. He'd only ridden a horse when he and Dean had been sent back in time to retrieve phoenix ashes from the wild west. The experience had left him bruised and sore for days.

Morpheus' head swung around to look at him. His blue eyes studied Sam's position and wary expression. _Relax, Sam. We're going to walk back slowly. It will be good practice for you, but I promise not to jostle you or take off in a run._

The canine stayed true to his word, and kept his steps slow and measured on the path toward the bunker. His smooth gait allowed Sam time to relax. And as he grew more familiar with the movement, Sam adjusted his position until he felt comfortable.

"So, I guess you _weren't_ joking about me learning to ride?" Sam asked once he was certain he wouldn't fall.

Morpheus snorted. _No, I was not joking._

"Isn't it, like, demeaning to you? To have people ride you like this?"

 _I must have a way to get my charges out of danger. If you were a physical pup, I could scruff you and run. But many of the children I've cared for were shaped like you. I learned long ago to improvise, and this is the best method I've found._

"Are we talking, like, if the bunker caught fire or…?" Sam trailed off, the image of flames taking over the other scenarios he'd been entertaining. Did they even have smoke detectors in the bunker?

 _Or if we were to come under attack._ Morpheus' words broke through Sam's wandering thoughts.

"We'd run from an attack?" Sam scoffed. When was the last time they'd run from anything? Even with the Darkness, the retreat was only long enough to regroup for another attack.

Morpheus came to a stop, jarring Sam forward in his seat. _Do you have a better suggestion? Shall I toss you at an enemy by the hem of your pants, perhaps?_

"Umm, no. But I can still do some things. I can…fire a gun." Sam winced, remembering the black eye he'd gotten as a kid from a small pistol's recoil.

 _No,_ Morpheus growled. The sound made Sam jump and sent goosebumps down his arms. _You will NOT fight. Not until you have learned to do so, and are cleared by both the angels and myself. Until then, if I say 'UP' for any reason, I need you to listen._

Sam scowled. "What, just obey without question? Did Gabriel not tell you _anything_ about me?"

 _I promise you, Sam—it is the only thing I will ask for obedience on. Anything else is negotiable. I do not make demands of my charges. I am not here to dictate your actions and life. If I say 'UP' it means there is imminent danger. Your safety is my first concern._

Sam didn't respond right away, and Morpheus resumed walking in silence. The idea that so many people now considered his safety as their "first concern" was mindboggling. Who, besides Dean, had ever cared about his safety over anything else? The mission always took priority—they could worry over each other and their allies, but the mission came first. _Sam_ was never the mission.

 _You doing okay, pup?_ Morpheus asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah," Sam lied.

 _Hmm._ The canine glanced over his shoulder. _You sure about that?_

Sam shrugged and tried to wipe his blood off the fur with his sleeve. "I guess…oh, I don't know. A lot's changed in a really short time."

 _Like what?_

"Like everything!" Sam said with a hollow laugh. "Like, a month ago, we were fighting God's sister while God made us pancakes and watched porn on Dean's laptop. Like, within a few days, I tried to take the Mark to lock Amara away again—the same Mark that corrupted Lucifer and Cain, and turned my brother into a demon. And when that didn't work, and God got His ass kicked, He gave up and it fell to me and Dean to figure out how to save the universe. Again. So, we shoved a soul-bomb into Dean, and he went off to detonate it in hopes of destroying the Darkness. And the next thing I knew, some woman was in our bunker, banishing Cas and shooting me. Then Chuck healed me, and I woke up a kid angel. And that doesn't include anything that's happened _since_ then.!"

 _Sounds like people are used to relying on you to solve dangerous problems._

"That's the understatement of my life," Sam mumbled.

 _When did you start hunting?_

"Me personally? I was nine when I finally convinced my dad to let me join him and Dean." He shook his head at the irony. How long after that did he first runaway? Three years? Four? "I'd gotten tired of being left behind for days and weeks at a time." Sam felt the muscles under him tense.

 _They left you alone for weeks? As a child?_ Morpheus asked. A dangerous edge hid under his calm.

"Well, I mean, I had money. And I was a lot better at budgeting than Dean." Sam searched his mind for other reassurances to tell the canine. "I had weapons, and knew how to safeguard a room with salt and symbols to keep the nasties out. Plus, it was really only during the summer months. Dad didn't want people to see me walking to-and-from school and get suspicious." He cringed at his own words, realizing it sounded so much worse when said aloud.

 _Your father had no other options? No friends he could let you stay with until he returned?_

"Umm, sometimes we stayed at Bobby's house. But he and dad got into a fight, and we didn't see him again until we were adults. And once in a while we went to Pastor Jim's place. But it always depended on where we were when a hunt came up."

Sam remembered trying to make similar arguments to his dad, but they'd never ended well. John's stubborn pride kept him from letting others know just how often his boys were left alone for the sake of a hunt. And he didn't want his boys to grow reliant on others to take care of them. He'd said so often enough.

 _Was there no one responsible for your protection?_

"Dean," Sam answered automatically.

 _And how old was he when he assumed that role?_

For a moment, Sam couldn't answer. The words stuck in his throat. He stared at his own tiny hands, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be the main caregiver to an infant when he still struggled with doorknobs and shirt buttons. Swallowing hard, he managed to say, "Four. Azazel killed my mom when I was six months old, and Dean was four."

Morpheus stayed silent the rest of the way.

* * *

Dean burst out laughing when he saw Sam. The kid was riding— _fucking riding_ —the damn dog like it was his personal steed. His laughter caused everyone else around the firepit to turn around. But only Mary laughed with him.

Gabriel's smile faded to a frown as he scrambled to his feet. Raphael and Castiel soon followed with equally concerned looks. Their lack of hilarity made Dean wipe the tears from his eyes and study the slow-moving figures.

Then, he saw the streaks of red shining bright against the white fur, and his stomach dropped.

"What the hell happened?" he yelled as he sprinted toward them, gun already in his hand. Images of creatures attacking them in the woods flashed before his eyes.

Sam gave him a sheepish smile. "I tripped."

"You _tripped?_ " Dean asked incredulously. He tucked the gun back into his pants. "Did you land in a pit of spikes? Are you both hurt? Jesus, that's a lot of blood for a little trip, Sam!"

A rush of wings announced Gabriel and Raphael's presence, both archangels flying to get there faster. They flanked Sam, each taking a side to check over for injuries. Dean heard footsteps behind him, and saw Mary and Castiel running to join the group.

"Guys, I'm fine," Sam insisted, pushing away their hands. "I wasn't paying attention and tripped over a tree root while jogging. I just skinned my knee and hands. That's all, I swear!"

Gabriel turned to Morpheus with an eyebrow raised. The dog nodded, confirming the story. The others all sighed, relaxing with the knowledge that no attack had occurred. But Dean wasn't satisfied.

"Why didn't you call us?" he demanded. "Did you even have your phone on you?"

"My phone? Seriously, Dean?" Sam shook his head. "No, I didn't have a phone with me. Because it doesn't fit in fucking baby-pockets! I can barely _hold_ my phone. And I didn't need to call you—I wasn't in danger. I'd have walked back if Morpheus hadn't insisted on carrying me."

Dean pulled his own cell phone out, and opened the 'notes' app to make a list. "Alright, so first things first—you need a new, smaller phone. That's easy enough. Next, maybe we could look at sewing bigger pockets into your clothes. Or get you one of those mini-backpacks to carry essentials like a phone, and a damn first aid kit since you can't do anything without injuring yourself."

"Morpheus," Sam leaned down to whisper into the canine's ear, "can you bite him for me?"

Dean scowled. "Fine. Forget the backpack. You're getting a neon fanny-pack."

"Dean," Sam said quietly, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, "please stop. I'm fine, okay?"

Dean studied his brother closely. He saw past the bloody scrapes and torn clothes, and focused on the bright pink cheeks plastered with sweat-drenched hair. In fact, Sam's clothes were soaked as well. He took a deep, calming breath. "Okay. We'll put the phone and pocket thing on hold. But can you tell me why you're soaking wet? I mean, it's freezing out here, dude, and you look like you've been swimming."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "I was running."

"Running?" Mary asked, startling Dean. He'd almost forgotten the others were there. "You ran so much that you sweat through several layers of clothes?"

"Well, yeah," Sam hunched down in a way that set off Dean's 'little-brother' alarms, "I'm supposed to start training, right? I was just trying to get warmed up. Besides, this new body is completely out of shape—I've lost all my muscle mass and stamina. I gotta start somewhere." He ended with another shrug.

"Training?" Mary turned on the archangels. "I thought you were just going to teach him to control his grace, and stuff about angel-history!"

Gabriel put his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide with the same surprise she was projecting. "Whoa there, Momma! That's all we _are_ going to teach him—how to control his grace and wings. And Raphael brought Sam those books to read at leisure. He's not gonna give the kid pop-quizzes or anything."

Raphael rested a hand on Gabriel and Mary's shoulders, quietly gaining their attention. "Perhaps we can discuss our plans in detail while I tend to Samuel's injuries. The cuts look superficial, but painful, and I do not think we should delay their treatment for the sake of this argument."

All eyes returned to Sam who remained hunched over on Morpheus' back. Dean saw the way his brother's legs trembled from the strain of keeping a tight hold around the canine. Sighing, he stepped to Sam's side and held his arms out in offering. "Come on, dude. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I can walk," Sam muttered without looking up.

"You can barely sit up, Sammy," Dean insisted.

Sam leaned forward and grasped Morpheus' fur with his injured hands before sliding shaky legs to the ground. His knees gave out the second his feet touched down, but Sam stubbornly kept himself upright by not letting go. Morpheus didn't even grunt as his fur was pulled.

"Sam—" Dean started, but was cut off when Mary pushed past him. She leaned down and wrapped an arm around Sam's middle, pulling him up toward her.

Immediately, Sam began fighting the hold. "I _said_ I can walk! Damnit, Dean, put me down!" he yelled, kicking and elbowing angrily against the body behind him. Mary calmly let him as she stood up, her son secured against her despite his wild flailing. Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing

"Stop that right now!" Mary scolded, and the kid froze at the sound of her voice against his ear. "You're going to hurt yourself worse."

She turned around and Dean grinned at his brother's shocked face. Hazel eyes begged for rescue, but Dean just shook his head. "Should have let me help you _before_ throwing yourself to the ground and almost collapsing."

Mary expertly spun Sam around in her arms so they faced each other, and sat him on her hip. "Come on," she said, walking toward the firepit, "let's get you cleaned up. Raphael, can you fix his pants too, or do we need to grab him some new clothes from inside?"

"I can fix them," the Healer reassured.

Sam sat awkwardly in her arms. His hands were curled against his chest like he didn't know what else to do with them, and his body remained stiff. He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

Mary gently lowered him onto a blanket and ruffled his hair. "My goodness, Sammy," she said with a smile, "you got a serious pout going on there."

Sam glowered down at his hands, and Dean could see his jaw clenching dangerously tight. "I'm not pouting. I'm frustrated."

"O-kay!" Dean said, patting her on the shoulder and pulling her away from his close-to-exploding brother. He continued in a whisper as they made room for the angels, "We should probably tone it down before he Force-chokes us."

Mary grimaced, taking in her youngest's tense form, and nodded. Together they stood and watched the archangels try to fuss over Sam. "Try" being the operative word. "Did he hurt himself this much last time he was a kid?" she asked in a low voice.

"Not really. Sam wasn't a clumsy kid, and Dad taught us to control our bodies pretty early. I think this," he gestured toward his brother, "is more about Sam trying to do the things he could as an adult."

Dean felt Castiel sidle up close to him, their shoulders brushing. "Your brother is impatient to regain his physical abilities."

"Thanks for the newsflash, Cas." Dean nudged him with an elbow. "Try telling us something we don't know."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in thought. "Sam thinks that Morpheus should sleep in his larger form on the bed with us."

"What?!" Dean yelled, gaining everyone's attention.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "You guys okay over there?" he asked with a smirk.

"Fine! We're all fine," Dean's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and watched as Raphael tried to coax a reluctant-Sam into showing them his palms. "You want us to go get started on some lunch or something?" Standing around was never his thing, and it didn't seem to be helping Sam's mood any to have everyone staring at him.

"That would be great!" Gabriel gave them a relieved smile.

"Come on, you two," Dean muttered, grabbing each of their elbows, "let's show the Master Chef how good Winchesters can be in the kitchen."

* * *

Raphael felt his own relief echo Gabriel's as the humans left with Castiel.

Samuel was too agitated for an audience. His injuries were minor, but his grace was rolling restlessly through his body and wings. Raphael didn't know the source of the fledgling's emotional turmoil, but it eased slightly as the others walked away.

" **May I please see your palms now, Samuel?** " The Healer held his own hand out and patiently waited.

"Why do you have to heal every little scrape?" Samuel asked instead. "Won't my body need to rebuild its resistance to things like germs? It can't do that if you bathe me in hand sanitizer and magically heal every bump."

" **I do not entirely understand how your body works,** " Raphael confessed. " **Angels have only ever had physical form when they inhabited a human vessel. But you are unique—your body is part of your true-form. As such, I do not wish to test its capabilities with fighting infection.** "

Samuel finally looked up to meet his eyes. "So, I won't accidentally leave my body if I sneeze too hard or something?"

Gabriel exploded with laughter at the unexpected question. Raphael smacked his brother with a wing, toppling him into a pile of pillows, and refocused on Samuel. " **No, you should safely remain in your body no matter what.** " He wiggled his fingers, reminding the boy that he still needed to look at his injuries. With a sigh, Samuel reluctantly uncurled his arms and allowed the Healer access to the torn skin. " **Have you ever felt like you were leaving your physical body? Since your change, I mean.** "

Samuel nodded, glancing at Gabriel. "Once. When Shepard blasted Gabriel and Castiel away with that egg-looking thing."

Gabriel stopped laughing, and settled in behind the boy. "I never asked how that affected you, Sam." He combed his fingers through the sweaty clumps of curls, using a touch of grace to dry them. Then, he scratched his way down Samuel's back, drying the clothes before starting to work on his wings.

"It…I guess it felt like something was pulling me in two directions." He gave a half-shrug. "I don't know how to describe it. But it hurt, and I couldn't move for a long time afterwards."

Morpheus padded over and flopped down next to them. _Was that the angel-banishing device you told me about, Gabrieloki?_

"Yeah," Gabriel answered in a tight voice. "I was hoping it hadn't affected you since you had no wings."

"Is that how banishing works? By affecting the wings?"

" **Mostly. It is a complicated process.** " Raphael brushed his thumbs over the scraped skin, carefully knitting the flesh back together.

"Think of it like an EMP for grace," Gabriel explained. "The blast goes off, and it short-circuits all the signals. The wings essentially banish themselves because all the pathways get messed up and the grace runs wild in the wrong directions."

"Oh. That…doesn't sound fun."

Raphael tapped on the boy's leg, and was pleased when he straightened them out without hesitation. " **So, tell me Samuel—why do you believe running is necessary to your training?** " He tried to keep his tone casual, but felt the tiny body tense anyway.

" **I…** " Samuel started, then paused, looking lost. The switch to Enochian had Raphael on instant alert though—it usually indicated a highly vulnerable state in the child that occurred unconsciously. " **I not know.** "

" **Hmm,** " Raphael hummed, considering how best to draw an answer from him. " **What do you think our training will entail?** "

Samuel brought his healed hands together, rubbing the left palm roughly with his other thumb. " **Grace…exercise? How to fly. How to fight.** "

Raphael's fingers twitched and he heard Gabriel take a sharp breath. " **You think we are going to train you in combat?** "

" **Maybe. Defend?** " The boy seemed to recognize that he'd upset them on some level. He cast a worried glance over his shoulder and to Morpheus before looking at Raphael again with a frown. " **You not teach defend?** "

" **Defense,** " Raphael gently corrected his Enochian. " **I will only teach you to use** _ **defense**_ **once you are able to master flight. Flying will be your best defense anyway. And we never teach combat to those as young as yourself.** "

" **You know I fight,** " he insisted, digging deeper into his palm with his thumb.

Before Raphael could intervene, Morpheus stretched his massive head forward and nosed at the little hands. _Easy there, pup. Healer-angel just fixed those. Do they itch?_ Samuel shook his head without speaking, but stopped the familiar gesture in favor of petting the canine's head.

Raphael breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Morpheus' presence helped ease the boy from the harmful habit. " **I know you have fought a great many battles in your lifetime, but that is not expected of you anymore.** "

Samuel scoffed at his reassurances. " **What expected not matter!** "

" **Why?** " Raphael asked. The boy rolled his eyes, but the archangel gently grasped his chin and held it until Samuel looked at him. " **Why does it not matter what is expected of you?** "

" **Because it** _ **is**_ **expected! It** _ **always**_ **expected. Even...** " he groaned, frustrated, and pushed Raphael's hands off his face, " **I try leave, it follow. I never not need fight!** "

" **You have tried to leave hunting, but it follows you?** " Raphael clarified.

" **Yes!** " Samuel said emphatically, nodding hard enough to send his now-dried curls bouncing across his face.

" **And you do not trust that we will protect you?** " Gabriel asked with a hint of sadness.

" **I-it is not trust!** " Sam rushed to explain.

 _It is the fact that enemies tend to find you no matter what you do, and you will not feel safe until you can fend for yourself. It wouldn't matter if you were surrounded by an entire army of protectors because your enemies are crafty and have done the impossible already._ Morpheus licked at the boy's arm, and Samuel's entire body relaxed with the knowledge that someone understood.

" **Yes,** " Samuel whispered.

Gabriel smoothed down the ruffled wings. They would need a full grooming session at some point in the day, but it would interfere with the conversation if Samuel was too loopy on grace to think straight. " **How about we start you on the basics first. Then, we can work our way up from there.** "

" **But…!** "

" **No buts!** " Gabriel laughed, and mussed Samuel's hair. " **After all, you will not be able to do much self-defense if you fly straight into a wall and knock yourself out. Right?** "

Samuel nodded, resigned to accepting the angels' conditions.

" **Good,** " Gabriel said. Then, he turned to Raphael and continued privately, _I think we're gonna have to keep an eye on this one. He's not going to let this go without a fight._

Raphael gave a slight nod. _Then it is a good thing we both have experience with stubborn siblings._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
** THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments and sent me messages on Tumblr! These past couple weeks have been heartbreaking, and y'all remind me that the world is perhaps not as doomed as I believed. Please, continue to be loving and kind to one another. The world needs more kindness right now.  
Also, friendly reminder that I am writing this as fast as I can. And while I certainly appreciate folks letting me know they are eager to read more, demanding updates is not really going to help. My chapters are averaging 6-10k each...longer than a lot of one-shots. And I'm usually posting every 1-2 weeks...so please keep that in mind!

Come be my friend on Tumblr: TheRiverScribe


	32. Teach Your Children pt3

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
** **PART 3: And So, Become Yourself**

Lunch was a rowdy affair, full of laughter and joking. Dean led the kitchen effort, teaching Castiel and Mary how to make his famous burgers. Gabriel conceded that they were the best he'd ever tasted, and Morpheus seconded the opinion with a growl as he wolfed it down.

The tension of the morning melted away as Sam tore through his own burger. Running always made him ravenous, and he hadn't been this hungry since he'd woken up from the massive healing session with Raphael. Plus, eating meant he didn't have to talk, and that was just fine with him. Sam relaxed into the playful atmosphere without feeling like he had to add to it.

Gabriel cleaned the kitchen with a snap. "Alright, lovely humans. I'm claiming the next few hours for some angel maintenance out by the fire. You are welcome to join us, but I suspect it might be a bit boring."

Dean made a face. "No, thanks. I'll be in the garage with Baby. She needs maintenance, too."

"I'll join you, if that's okay," Mary said.

Dean looked startled for a second, then grinned. "You know anything about cars?"

Mary raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "I was married to a mechanic for a number of years, you know. I'm not just a pretty face."

"Awesome," Dean said softly to himself. He caught Sam's eyes. "You good, Sammy?"

Sam gave a nod. Even if he wasn't okay, he didn't want Dean and their mom watching. Grooming was an awkward enough affair without an audience. "I'm sure I can manage to sit in the yard with only four super-powerful beings to keep me safe for a few hours without you. Go, have fun with the car."

"Try not to trip over any tree roots!" Dean called over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen. Mary followed him, slapping Dean on the shoulder.

"Don't forget your 'car-washing shorts!'" Sam yelled back.

They heard a scuffle in the hall as Dean tried to turn back, but Mary made him keep walking with a firm, "No! No more fighting, or we're working on laundry instead of the car!"

Gabriel laughed. "'Car-washing shorts?' Do I want to know?"

"No, you really don't," Sam said, shuddering dramatically.

"Does Cassie know about them?" Gabriel asked in a loud whisper, nudging Sam toward the door.

Sam looked over in time to see Castiel squint in confusion. "Probably not, if he's making that face."

"I did not know Dean owned any shorts," Castiel said, sounding bewildered by the idea. "He has always vehemently opposed that form of clothing."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks.' You should have seen him when we went undercover at a school. He posed as a P.E. teacher, strutting around in a pair of gym shorts. And I'll spare you a description of what he wears while washing the car."

"I may just pop into the garage later. With a camera." They walked out into the cool afternoon air, Gabriel cackling the whole way. Morpheus ran circles around them in his tiny-form, yipping and tripping and rolling the whole way.

As they approached the firepit, Sam's stomach twisted, and he wished he hadn't eaten so much. He didn't know what to expect from these "more involved grooming" sessions. Grooming already seemed pretty involved—complete with constant touching and invasive grace.

Sam settled onto his pillow. His nerves kicked up a notch when the archangels sat on either side of him. Castiel toed off his shoes and sat in front of Sam, looking as uncertain as Sam felt. Morpheus climbed into the hollow between Sam's crossed legs and rested his head on his ankle.

" **Alright, Samuel,** " Raphael began, setting a hand on Sam's right shoulder, " **I think we should discuss what you can expect from these sessions before we begin.** "

Sam nodded in agreement, glancing up at the Healer through unruly bangs. He pushed his hair back so he could see better. " **Yes, please.** "

Raphael smiled. " **As you know, fledglings raised in Heaven would not grow wings until they are much older than you. They would already have centuries of experience using their grace and be able to shape their wing's pathways for flight themselves. However, you are unique, and so we must improvise.** "

Sam made a face, wishing that he could be "normal" for once in his life.

"Hey, now," Gabriel said, bopping Sam's nose gently with a finger, "none of that."

"What?" Sam scratched his nose.

Gabriel frowned knowingly. "I know what you're thinking."

"You're reading my mind?" Sam asked, outraged.

"No. I don't need to," Gabriel scoffed. "I know that face. Let me just say this—yes, you are unique. But you are not the _only_ unique angel. Each archangel is unique. The first seraphs were unique. Same with the cherubs and cupids and all the other ranks. Each new form of angel came with their own challenges, and we all had to learn as we went. Angels aren't manufactured on an assembly line—even when we reached the tenth generation of a rank, we'd still have special cases who didn't respond to training or healing techniques the same as their siblings. Just look at Cassie!"

Sam saw the seraph sit up, unprepared for the sudden shift of attention.

"What about me?" Castiel asked.

"You were part of the same generation as Uriel and Balthazar, weren't you?" Gabriel asked, and Castiel nodded. "Well, there you go! Three seraphs—all completely different from each other. Uriel loved discipline and orders. You kept mostly to yourself, but asked questions incessantly to learn more. And Balthazar got into constant trouble with his explorations and sass, even as a little thing."

Raphael chuckled, making Sam turn toward him again. " **Gabriel is trying to say that we are used to adjusting our methods to suit the circumstances. You need not feel singled out or alone. Being unique is perhaps not as unique as it seems.** "

Sam blushed and nodded. Their words made sense, and chipped away at the feeling that he was a freak among angels. Gabriel ruffled his hair—a gesture that was becoming more common as days went by. Sam swatted his hand away.

" **Good. Now, as I was saying, we must improvise how we proceed.** " Raphael's hand rubbed the back of Sam's neck, encouraging the muscles to relax. " **You do not have enough control over your grace to build the pathways for your wings, so I will do it for you.** "

" **How?** " Sam asked.

" **I will use my own grace to shape the basic passages—the 'feathers,' if you will. It may take a few days, and we will teach you control exercises between each session. It should be enough to get you started. You will take over the process under our guidance as your control grows stronger.** " Raphael's hand dropped down to Sam's wings, pressing into the pressure point at the base that made them flatten across his back like a shawl. " **We will start with a thorough grooming before I begin shaping them. Are you ready?** "

Sam glanced at each of them. Gabriel shifted on his pillow so he was situated more behind Sam than next to him. Castiel looked intrigued by the process, but seemed content to watch until directed to do something different.

" **Okay,** " Sam finally consented.

Both archangels worked in tandem, taking their time to groom the small wings. Raphael told him stories of Heaven—of how the first fledglings came to be, and his own role in nurturing them. Gabriel added commentary, usually involving the young, panicked archangels trying to sort through unexpected mishaps.

Sam listened in awe, imagining the newly-built halls filled with tiny grace-beings. It was easy to picture a flustered Raphael running behind squealing children who were egged on by a playful Gabriel. But he heard what they were careful not to describe as well—Michael and Lucifer's place in those early days.

When they finished, Raphael explained that he would begin shaping basic pathways. " **Gabriel, I want you to watch so you can mirror what I do on the other wing.** "

With their grace already intertwined with Sam's own, it was easy to feel Gabriel's uncertainty.

" **Are you sure? I am not as experienced in grace-work as you are, brother.** "

Raphael just nodded. " **You are experienced enough. And you are a fast learner when you set your mind to it. Besides, this is not exactly an established technique. We are both learning as we go.** "

"Wow," Sam muttered, looking at Castiel, "way to inspire confidence in your guinea pig."

"And you are the guinea pig, right?" Castiel asked with a knowing smile.

"Yup," Sam said, trying not to let his nervousness show.

"Hush," Gabriel teased, putting a finger over Sam's lips, "guinea pigs don't talk."

Sam felt the difference as soon as Raphael started. He hissed as the Healer's grace dug deeper past the surface, sculpting the mass of energy and giving it form. Gabriel quickly caught on to what Raphael was doing, and began work on the left wing.

If grooming was like hair-brushing, then building pathways was like hair-braiding. Having sections of his wing pulled into tight bundles was uncomfortable. It tugged painfully at his spine and stomach.

"Sorry," Gabriel murmured when Sam's breath hitched on a particularly harsh tug.

Castiel held out his hands. Sam took them, grateful for the support. The seraph continued the storytelling, albeit in his own awkward way, when it became apparent that the archangels were too focused to talk. Most of his tales were of mundane things, and he usually ended up switching stories before he reached the end of one.

But Sam just listened to the sound of his voice, letting the deep tones wash over him and distract him from the discomfort.

By the time they were done, Sam was exhausted. His wings felt raw, and his muscles were sore from trying to keep still. "I think my legs are asleep," he said, fighting a yawn.

"I think the rest of you is almost asleep, too," Gabriel said when he shifted around to face him. "Come on. Let's get you inside. You can take a nap before dinner."

"I don't need naps," Sam grumbled, even though he wanted nothing more than to curl up where he was and do just that.

"Absolutely," Gabriel pretended to agree. "Grab Morpheus for me."

"Wha-?" Sam asked, rubbing his itchy eyes.

Instead of explaining, Gabriel just scooped up the sleeping canine and tucked him inside Sam's hoodie. He rearranged Sam's arms so they were wrapped around the tiny bundle. "Okay, up you go," was all the warning he gave.

Gabriel got one arm under Sam's knees, and picked him up bridal-style. Sam didn't have the energy to properly protest. He settled for a frustrated growl as he was pulled against the archangel's chest.

Raphael chuckled from behind them. "Yes, you are very fierce. I am certain you will become even more intimidating as you grow older."

Sam tried to twist around to scowl at the Healer, but Gabriel tightened his hold. "Stop that—both of you. Raphael, aren't you supposed to be the responsible one? Don't antagonize him!"

"Consider this payback for centuries of your 'helpful' contributions to my care of fledglings in Heaven."

Gabriel responded with his usual snark, but Sam only heard his tone. The words grew distant and fuzzy as his eyes closed. Each step across the lawn made Sam feel heavier. He was asleep before they reached the bunker.

* * *

They formed a routine.

After breakfast in the morning, Sam would go for a run with Morpheus. That usually ended with Morpheus running and Sam riding. It was Sam's favorite part of the day, once he got over the weirdness of riding a dog like a horse.

Morpheus was a patient, but firm, instructor. He made racing around the yard and through the woods fun. Sometimes, he would test Sam's reflexes by springing an _Up, pup!_ midday on him. He expected Sam to react instantly, and it only took one "not now" for him to learn that Morpheus meant business. An hour-long lecture and his entire hair washed by dog-tongue taught him to not question Morpheus' seriousness.

Lunch was now delegated to Dean, Mary, and Castiel to prepare. Dean liked to make it a competition to see if he could outdo whatever Gabriel was planning for dinner. As a result, lunch quickly became an extravagant affair with hours of research and effort going into it each day.

Sam worried it was a sign that Dean was getting bored with not hunting. But Castiel assured him quietly one day that he had never seen Dean laugh as much as when they were in the kitchen together. Even Mary flourished with her new-found purpose as part of the "kitchen crew."

After lunch, the angels groomed Sam and kept working to form his "feathers." The first few day, he fell asleep immediately afterwards. But by day five, he was able to stay awake.

That evening, the angels started Sam on meditating and learning to actively control his grace. Raphael guided him through the exercises. His deep voice, resonating through Sam's body and mind, was as effective at inducing a trance as their grooming sessions.

Sam learned to push and pull his grace throughout his body. He formed a ball of energy between his palms large enough for even Dean to see—on his very first try! He got so excited, it burst, shattering all the lights in the room.

Gabriel cried tears of joy, and hurried to reassure a panicked Sam that he was proud. He snapped away the shards of glass and made late-night hot chocolates for everyone to celebrate. The next day, Mary took over lunch-planning and made an Asian salad with chicken, almonds, and oranges just for him.

That afternoon, Dean tried to make Castiel skip out on the pathway-building session. Thanksgiving was the next day, and the hunter had decided that the humans would take charge of the meals for their first holiday together as a family. But Castiel remained insistent—Sam's wings took precedent over some date marking colonization and genocide of a native race.

"Fine," Dean snapped, pushing Castiel out of the kitchen, "but that means Sammy has to help us in the kitchen tomorrow. He's still part-human, and this is our first holiday with Mom."

"No problem, Deano!" Gabriel called out as he ushered the angels safely away. "We'll take a break tomorrow for feasting and lounging."

"Good!" Dean yelled after them.

Sam walked in silence to their place by the fire. He'd forgotten all about Thanksgiving. They rarely celebrated Christmas most years—Thanksgiving less so. It hadn't occurred to him that their Mom's return would change that. But it did. It changed everything.

"You doing alright there, Sam-a-lam?" Gabriel asked quietly.

"Yeah," Sam answered, forcing a smile, "just lost track of the days, I guess."

"You have had a lot to deal with a while now," Raphael pointed out.

"Understatement of the year," Sam mumbled, but Raphael heard him if the gentle wing-tap to the back of his head was any indication.

"I think we'll keep things light this afternoon," Gabriel said as they took their usual seats. "Just some grooming for right now. Tonight, we'll have you start building these pathways yourself."

Sam nodded, petting Morpheus who laid across his ankles. All their energy exercises had made him more sensitive to the other angels' grace. He'd begun to pick up what they were doing to his wings—see their intentions enough to anticipate their next steps. He felt ready.

The archangels each took one wing. Sam shivered as their grace poured over him. He closed his eyes, drifting on the sensation. Grooming always put him into a trance-like state now, and he was learning to enjoy it.

Energy tingled along the new appendages and down his spine. He felt where the new "feathers" had formed kinks and twisted out of place. It got easier to identify with each session, but it still sometimes boggled his mind to recognize anything about the things growing out of his back.

The archangels worked quickly, smoothing the disheveled grace into its proper place. The tingling grew to an itch, and Sam felt something shift. His consciousness expanded outward, connecting to the world around him. He sat up straighter in surprise. It hadn't happened since that very first grooming with Gabriel—this sudden explosion of awareness beyond himself.

Sam sensed the archangels at his back, and the seraph at his front—like two suns and a moon in orbit around his own comet-sized self. He gripped the pillow under him with both hands, trying to ground himself. Then, he opened his eyes.

Castiel towered, a massive being of swirling blue light and rotating faces. Black wings reflecting every imaginable color flared out to frame the ox head just as it was replaced with a lion. Sam gasped in wonder, and heard the seraph echo him.

" **What is wrong?** " Raphael's voice rumbled like a quake within a mountain.

" **Nothing** ," Castiel replied, a whispered roll of thunder. " **Samuel's eyes are open, as Gabriel calls it. He is seeing me—seeing my true-form.** "

" **How you know?** " Sam asked. His voice sounded so small in his own ears.

" **How** _ **do**_ **you know,** " Raphael gently corrected.

" **How do you know?** " Sam repeated, tempted to roll his eyes. He refrained, not wanting the world to spin out of control.

The lion head leaned forward, then shifted to be replaced by a man's face. It looked nothing like Jimmy Novak. " **Your eyes are glowing with grace.** "

A recent memory, wrapped in pain and ice, rose unbidden to the surface of Sam's mind.

" _His eyes are glowing all bright and weird," said a woman in disgust._

" _Oh? What color?" Shepard's voice sounded distant._

" _I dunno. White with, like, sparks of violet."_

Sam shivered again, and slammed his eyes shut. _Not now,_ he thought. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, sharp and freezing. He wanted to wipe it away but his hands wouldn't release the pillow.

There were no pillows in that place. He held onto it like a life-line. Every muscle in his body seemed too tight, too stiff, too constricted to move.

" **Samuel?** " the thunder asked softly.

Fingers brushed across Sam's face, wiping through the sweat. He shook his head and tried to will away the memories and voices. Days had passed since _they_ last intruded on his thoughts—he'd hoped they were gone for good.

The hands moving over his wings paused but didn't go away.

" **What is wrong?** " asked a howling wind.

" **I do not know.** " The thunder moved closer. Warm palms framed Sam's face, thumbs smoothing his brows. " **Samuel? Can you open your eyes for me?** "

Sam pressed into the hands, wanting to crawl inside their warmth. He forced himself to take slow breaths through his nose when his mouth refused to open. Nausea threatened to make his lunch resurface.

Something moved over his legs. A soft, wet tongue licked at his right wrist, tickling the skin. _Relax, pup,_ Morpheus' voice cut clearly through the storm of grace surrounding Sam's senses. _You're safe with your family._

Heat flowed through the palms on his face, melting away the ice. Sam sighed in relief as his muscles became pliant again. He moved his right hand into the soft fur, and felt the tiny body twist under his fingers to keep licking him.

"Okay," said Gabriel, back to his usual vessel's voice, "we're done."

The archangels' grace retreated from his wings, leaving his skin buzzing and warm. Raphael massaged the tension in Sam's neck. Gabriel gently peeled Sam's left hand off the pillow and held it between his palms, his thumb rhythmically rubbing against his pulse-point.

"Sam," Castiel whispered at close range, "can you open your eyes now?"

Taking another deep breath, Sam blinked. Blue eyes filled his vision, but they were no longer swirling in grace-light. He squinted against the afternoon sun, blinking a few more times until he adjusted.

Castiel's worried face came into focus—his vessel's face remained stationary, without any animal heads waiting to rotate into its place. The seraph smiled in relief. He kept his hands on Sam's face, using his fingertips to lightly scratch through the curls.

"You okay, Samshine?" Gabriel asked quietly.

"Y-yeah." Sam's voice cracked, still too tight to work properly.

"What happened?" Castiel asked, taking his hands away and sitting back.

"Nothing," Sam answered too quickly. His experience with the British Men of Letters was the last thing he wanted to discuss.

"Samuel…" Raphael started, but Sam shook his head.

Rolling his shoulders, he tried to dislodge the archangel's hand from his neck. "I'm fine," he insisted, avoiding everyone's eyes.

Raphael sighed and dropped his hand. "Did something make you uncomfortable? Did the grooming hurt or tug too hard anywhere?"

Sam's hands tightened and he forced them to relax before he pulled Morpheus' fur or Gabriel could comment. "I said it was nothing. I'm fine."

"It was what I said," Castiel admitted. "You became very upset when I mentioned your eyes."

"Cas, stop. Please. It was nothing." Sam refused to let _them_ disrupt his first honest-to-God holiday with his Mom.

Gabriel inhaled sharply. "The Brits," he muttered, but Sam heard him and quickly turned in surprise.

"What?!" How did Gabriel know that? He'd promised he wasn't reading Sam's mind.

Gabriel winced. "They talked about your eyes glowing, didn't they?" he gently coaxed. "After they'd drenched you in ice water and left you for the night. Your grace kept you alive, working hard enough to make your eyes light up."

Sam snatched his hand back and glared. "How could you possibly…"

"We saw video." Gabriel glanced nervously at the others before settling his gaze on Sam. "They recorded your time there on a laptop, and we recovered it from the blast."

Sam's mind went blank, then flew into overdrive. He'd spent a week and a half trying to forget the whole experience, hoping he could just put it behind him. But knowing that they had seen and heard everything was another story.

He closed his eyes, rapidly flashing through images like photos in a catalogue. Anger warred with humiliation as he let himself remember. Had he been recorded the entire time, or just when the Brits were present? Did the angels only witness the things done and said to him? Or had they heard him whimpering in the dark, reciting the alphabet to himself?

"Sam," Gabriel said, drawing him out of his thoughts. The tone suggested he'd called Sam's name more than once.

Sam opened his eyes and took a steadying breath before looking to his left. The gold in Gabriel's eyes shimmered. Sam thought it was grace at first, but then realized the archangel was holding back tears. It made some of his anger deflate.

Gabriel continued in a quiet, shaky voice. "I'm sorry I've upset you. We weren't trying to keep this from you, and we didn't watch it to invade your privacy."

"Then why?" Sam demanded.

"That first night we had you back, right after Raphael healed you, you had a nightmare. Our grace was still wrapped around you, and we felt it all. I-I needed to know what they did to you. I was worried and angry and I knew you wouldn't want to talk about it."

Sam couldn't even begin to process it all. He knew they'd been worried. But Gabriel had only been with them a couple weeks—how did he know Sam wouldn't talk? Sam's need for "chick-flick" moments had been the running gag his entire life.

There was one thing that stood out though, and Sam focused in on it. "Angry?"

Gabriel gave a watery laugh and scrubbed at his face. "Yes, I was angry! You had been taken from me—by a human, of all things. And when I got you back, you were hurt and scared and I couldn't do anything to take that away. I couldn't undo what they'd done to you."

Sam nodded, understanding the helplessness of coming into a situation too late. It happened all too often with him and Dean. But in all their encounters with the archangel, before and after his resurrection, it was the one emotion Sam hadn't truly witnessed. Frustration and fear, yes, but not anger.

Gabriel's confrontation with Lucifer on the lawn that day was the closest he'd come to seeing the rage Sam knew all archangels carried. But it had remained contained—biting words and snarky insults without actual blows. Even Lucifer had behaved himself.

Sam was an expert on anger. He knew the different forms and motivations. Acting out of a sense of protectiveness and being filled to the brim with burning wrath were not the same thing. What would push Gabriel to be truly angry—and what would happen to those who caused it?

"What could possibly be going through your mind right now, hmm?" Gabriel's voice startled Sam out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," Sam replied automatically. Gabriel looked suspicious, but didn't push him. "Did everyone see it?"

"No, just us. Your mom and brother know about it, but they have not watched it yet," Raphael answered.

"I don't want them to." Sam pushed himself to his feet, refusing all the hands that rushed to help.

"Sam," Castiel started in his "let's think about this" voice.

"No! I'm serious." Dizziness made him sway, but he pushed it aside and focused on the wide blue eyes staring down at him. "I didn't even know they'd recorded me. If I had, I would have made sure the damn thing was destroyed before walking out of there. If you have questions, you can ask me—and _maybe_ I'll answer. W-what happened there was nobody's business but mine, understand?"

Gabriel crouched down until they were eye-level. Sam wanted to tell him to take his pity and shove it, but realized he didn't see any pity. He saw gold and steel.

"I understand this feels like a giant violation, and I should have told you about the tape sooner. But you are wrong to think this isn't my business. First of all, those people had a powerful weapon of Heaven, and they knew how to use it—against _me._ If I hadn't managed to grab Cassie on our way out of the atmosphere, he would have been lost to us until you were an adult again. And maybe not even then."

Sam swallowed hard, and glanced at Castiel. The seraph was pale at the memory, and nervous to be brought into the conversation. Fingers snapped in front of Sam's face, and he jumped.

Gabriel was not done. "Second of all, you're lucky you didn't destroy that laptop. It allowed me access to their system where there are thousands of files. Information about angels, demons, pagan deities, creatures, and magics that even you Winchesters know nothing about. Remember that man gloating about torturing an angel for months? That's _my_ brother. _My business!_ "

Tears stung Sam's eyes, but he blinked them away. He hadn't even thought about Shepard's mention of the angel they'd held prisoner. That angel could still be captive, and Sam had just pushed that knowledge aside with all the other memories.

"Third of all," Gabriel's voice dropped lower, "you are a fledgling. A child, by Heaven's standards, and a member of my flock. They took you from me. They hurt you. My fledgling, my child, my responsibility, _my business_. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." The words slipped off Sam's tongue by instinct. He fought to control the emotions surging under the surface. His throat burned from the effort, and his face felt like it was on fire.

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Hey," he said in a softer voice, "that's not…"

"I'm sorry," Sam blurted out, failing to keep his breath from hitching halfway through. "C-can I go now?"

The archangel sighed and looked like he wanted to say more. Sam braced himself, waiting for a new onslaught. Instead, Gabriel gave a sad smile and nodded.

Sam backed away, passing the other two angels. He couldn't turn around—you never turned your back on an angry archangel. Even if that angel was staring back with a look of devastation.

He made it two more steps before running into a wall of fur. Morpheus had shifted unnoticed at some point. Sam pressed against him, silently willing the canine to move.

Morpheus swung his massive head around to nose at Sam's hair. _Up, pup,_ he commanded as he lowered himself to the ground.

Sam grabbed the fur of his neck and swung a leg over his back without looking away from the angels. He'd never been so grateful for their hours of practice. The move was ingrained into muscle memory, and he barely shifted when Morpheus stood and trotted them away.

 _Where do you want to go?_

The only place warm enough outside was by the fire, and Sam was done being under the watchful gaze of angels.

"My room," he whispered.

He dismounted when they got to the top of the stairs inside the bunker. Mary and Dean's voices drifted through the war room from the direction of the kitchen. Sam hoped to avoid them for now, not wanting to talk to anyone.

Morpheus followed Sam's gaze, his ears perking up at the sound of the humans. Understanding Sam's unspoken wish, he shifted down again and allowed Sam to carry him through the halls. The clacking of his claws would definitely blow their cover.

Sam tucked him inside his hoodie. He chanced a quick detour into the library on the way, and grabbed two of the books from Heaven. It wasn't until they got to his room and closed the door that Sam felt safe.

Leaning against the solid wood, he gulped in air like he'd been drowning. The books fell from his arms, crashing loudly to the ground. He barely felt his knees give out, or his body slide down the door to sit on the floor.

Sam closed his eyes and let go, unable to control the panic or emotional storm anymore. Too many memories competed for attention until he had no choice but to just let them play out. Shepard's fist and stick brought phantom pains to his long-healed body, and he pulled his knees up to ward against them.

John's voice crept in, raging over the pain, and Sam was powerless to fend off the words. Arguments and lectures from a lifetime ago echoed in his ears. _Buck up and quit crying! You're a hunter, not some sissy civilian. Quit being a baby, or I'll give you something to cry about._

He didn't notice Morpheus climb out of his hoodie, or shift back into his large form. All he saw was Gabriel's cold face, claiming Sam as his own. What did that mean?

Sam pressed his fists into his eyes, finally done riding out the blitz. Something large and wet ran across his face and hands. It took several passes before his brain could identify it as a tongue. A nose joined the effort, rooting hard against his hands to dislodge them. _Morpheus,_ he remembered.

It took a minute, but Sam managed to pull his arms back down and open his eyes. He tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. "Hey," he sobbed, tears freely flowing.

Morpheus studied him in silence for a second. Then, he huffed. Hot air blew through Sam's hair. _Come on. Let's get you off this floor and into bed._

Sam grabbed hold of the canine's neck, fatigue hitting him like a freight train. Morpheus raised his head, pulling Sam to his feet. Together, they walked to the bed Sam hadn't slept in since the night before the kidnapping.

He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the mattress. It wasn't as comfortable as the communal bed Castiel made, but it was familiar. And someone had done him the courtesy of fixing the blankets and pillows back into place. He pulled them up over his shoulder and pressed his face into the pillow, trying to smother the tears.

The bed suddenly dipped, almost causing him to roll completely over. Sam snapped his head up in alarm and saw Morpheus had climbed up next to him. That was new—the canine had only slept in the bed in his smaller form so far.

Morpheus' mouth opened in a wide, wolfish grin. _The others will be less likely to approach the bed when they see me like this._ He settled down, instantly warming Sam with his body heat, and nuzzled his snout into the back of Sam's hair. _Go to sleep, pup. Things always make more sense when we can think clearly._

Sam closed his eyes and shifted closer to the warm body, sleep already dragging him under.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
**

I know it's been waaaay too long since the last chapter, but there are *reasons!*  
The Character Ask game I started on Tumblr grew into such a success, I decided to DO what I've been waffling over-I created a sideblog dedicated exclusively to this series! All of which couldn't have been done without the help of nathyfaith and carryonmycobaltangel.

COME CHECK IT OUT, **spn-bythegraceofgod**  
It includes:  
Asks answered by characters  
Master FicList page, with side stories written by readers set within the BTGOG!verse  
Characters page, including bios and pics  
Prompt fics set within the BTGOG!verse  
Fanart by readers  
Moodboards  
And hopefully more!

I've got at least 30 more Asks to answer, so I'm gonna take a day or two to try and knock as many out as possible. They'll be posted my one-shot collection, "Ask and It Shall Be Given You," where the first 30 are already waiting for your viewing pleasure.

Thanks so much for everyone's patience and understanding!  
And come be my friend on Tumblr **, theriverscribe** AND **spn-bythegraceofgod**


	33. Teach Your Children pt4

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
** **PART 4: Because the Past is Just a Goodbye**

Dean remembered Heaven from his one time there during the Apocalypse. Most of the experience was bittersweet, overshadowed by what he'd thought were Sam's "best" memories. But he knew exactly what it would look like if he were to return there now.

The kitchen overflowed with music and the lingering scent of breads and roasted chicken from previous meals. Mary sat at the table across from him, making final additions to their Thanksgiving menu. She hummed quietly along to "Whole Lotta Love" as she flipped through the pages of a recipe book.

All that was missing was Sam and Castiel. And the archangels. And maybe the pillow-stealing dog.

Dean grinned. His family had grown so much in so short a time. It felt like just yesterday that they'd almost lost Castiel to Lucifer's possession. Even when the Devil agreed to join their venture against Amara, Dean had feared the worst.

He'd already seen the consequences of sharing a body with Lucifer. Sam was still recovering years later. Even if Castiel managed to reclaim his vessel and mind for himself, there was no way of knowing how much damage would be left behind.

And when the battle had ended, Dean could barely spare a glance for the broken God lying on the floor. He only had eyes for Castiel. And the relief that accompanied that gravelly voice saying, "Lucifer is gone," had outshined the fact that God was dying.

Less than a week later, the world had not ended. Sam and Castiel were safely by Dean's side, along with Mary and an archangel. And while things weren't perfect per se, life had never been better.

If _this_ wasn't his Heaven, then he didn't want to go.

"What?" Mary asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" Dean shot back, still grinning.

Mary's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You look like Christmas came early."

"It did!" He leaned back in his chair, not even trying to hide his glee.

She studied him for a second, and it only made him grin more. "I guess it did," she finally said, her eyes softening as she joined him in smiling.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, but they only added to Dean's excitement. The sound meant more of his family was about to join them. Good—he had a list of things for Gabriel to go retrieve before morning, and he wanted Castiel's opinion on their dessert choices.

One look at their faces and Dean felt his high spirits plummet. Gabriel seemed upset, and Castiel shot a worried look down the hall before Raphael steered them into the kitchen. Something was wrong.

"What happened?" he demanded, rising to his feet. "Where's Sam?"

Gabriel tried to answer, but shook his head and shrugged instead.

The archangel's obvious distress and lack of words made Dean's stomach twist. "Someone better explain now!" he said, marching toward the angels. If he didn't get an answer in thirty seconds, he would go in search of Sam without it.

"Samuel is in his room," Raphael answered in a low tone. "I believe he is asleep, and it is probably best he continue resting."

Dean looked closely at each of them. There was stress and strain etched into their faces, but no one was battle-ready. He could only hope that their willingness to all part with Sam was a good sign.

"What happened?" Dean repeated in a calmer voice.

Castiel cleared his throat. "Sam had a flashback during our grace work."

"Lucifer?" Dean asked.

"The kidnapping," Castiel said with a slight shake of his head.

"And?" Dean gestured for them to hurry up with the story. "He's had plenty of flashbacks. What's different about this one?"

"He learned about the recording," Gabriel finally answered, "and that we'd seen it."

"He…so?" Confusion clouded Dean's mind. He and Sam had both been taken prisoner and tortured so many times it was practically routine. And regardless of whether they were taken alone or together, they almost always treated each other's injuries afterwards.

This time, everyone had been present for the intense healing session and saw what those bastards did to Sam. They'd even heard Sam recount parts of what had happened during the car ride home. What was he missing?

"How about we sit down and you start from the beginning?" Mary suggested, taking Gabriel's elbow and leading him to the table. The others followed.

Dean pushed the books aside, menu forgotten. "Alright, let's hear it."

Gabriel frowned and stared, unseeing, at the table. "Sam's tried to avoid any discussion about what happened. I think he believes it will fade away if he ignores it long enough."

Dean snorted. "Welcome to the Winchester coping method."

Gabriel's eyes snapped up to meet Dean's gaze. "Avoidance isn't coping."

"Says the guy who avoided his own family feuds for _how_ many centuries?"

"Again," Gabriel's chin raised up in determination, "it is _not_ the same as coping. And yes, I would know."

Dean scrubbed at his face. "Okay, so Sam isn't 'coping' with the kidnapping thing. That still doesn't tell me why you're all freaking out."

"I…" Gabriel's confidence crumpled, his distress rising back to the surface, "We may have had an argument? I'm not sure."

"Sam tried to stab me with a fork at breakfast. So, consider me a well-informed source when I say that arguments with my brother are a natural occurrence—the kid's like a freaking thunderstorm. Only now, he comes complete with actual lightning." Dean rolled his eyes, thinking fondly of their daily spats since childhood. He stood and walked toward the coffee pot. "He'll stew about it for a while. Him sleeping is a good sign—he's always super cranky when he's tired. I'm sure he'll wake up, mope a bit, and then apologize."

"It's not just what _he_ said," Gabriel whispered.

Dean paused before pouring his coffee. He didn't bother adding any cream or sugar, preferring the bitter black liquid to accompany whatever the archangel was about to say. Turning around, he stared at those gathered. The three angels all looked uneasy.

"What did _you_ say, then?"

"Sam was angry—told me that what had happened was nobody's business but his own. I disagreed." Gabriel snapped and a plain hot chocolate appeared. No foam or candy canes or glittery sugar.

The sight made Dean's stomach twist again. "And?"

"And I may have been a little too enthusiastic in explaining why it was my business. I just…I needed him to understand that he isn't alone! That he has people who care about him, and that we were all affected by his kidnapping. And that watching that tape went beyond us needing to know what they'd done to him." Gabriel stood and began pacing. "That man used one of Heaven's strongest weapons and he bragged to your brother about torturing another angel for at least a year. Those things are enough to guarantee at least a strike team. Taking a fledgling was an act of war. For Sam to tell me that these things are 'none of my business' is ludicrous!"

Dean moved closer and casually leaned against the island. "And?"

"And what?" Gabriel asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged. "All that sounds pretty reasonable. In fact, those are the types of things Sam normally points out to me, so I can't see him taking offense to any of them. He might be embarrassed that he'd overlooked those things in his attempt at avoiding the whole incident, but I don't think he'd disagree in the end."

"Gabriel said Sam was _his_ child," Castiel spoke softly from beside Raphael.

Dean sucked in a breath, but it felt like all the air had left the room. "What did Sam say?"

Gabriel stopped pacing and winced. "He called me 'sir.'"

"Like, sarcastically?" Dean asked, hopeful.

"No."

Dean set down his coffee mug. His brain felt sluggish, but the coffee was souring his stomach. He suddenly wanted whiskey—a rare urge these days.

When was the last time he'd heard Sam call someone "sir" and meant it? He couldn't remember if it had ever slipped out when addressing Bobby, and saying it to law enforcement was part of their act. John was the only one who'd insisted on the moniker.

"Then what?" Dean croaked. "What did he do after that?"

Gabriel turned away from them and remained silent. Dean looked at the others, expecting an answer from someone. Castiel exchanged a silent word with Raphael before nodding.

"He returned to the bunker with Morpheus," Castiel explained, "but he was not in a good state of mind. He seemed…scared. Of us. Morpheus carried him back."

Dean sighed. Chuck Almighty—how did they manage to twist so many of Sam's major issues into a single conversation and let it end badly? Did the angels even understand? Gabriel's attitude suggested at least a shallow grasp of the problem, but Dean doubted it went much further.

"Right. Mom, do you care to go over the stuff we need for tomorrow with these guys? Some of these dishes need to be prepped tonight," Dean asked over his shoulder as he went to the fridge and rummaged around. He knew Sam wouldn't come out for dinner, and there was no way he was letting the kid go all night without food or water. He'd seen the physical effects that grace-stuff had on him—he'd be dehydrated and shaking come morning. As an afterthought, he grabbed the leftover burger patties for the dog.

"Sure, sweetie," Mary said. He heard her concern, but he knew she wasn't who Sam needed right now. "Are you going…?"

"Yep, you know where to find me." Dean shoved the various containers and water bottles into a tote bag. He nudged Gabriel with his shoulder on his way out, startling the archangel. Wide eyes met his, and Dean nudged him again even harder. "Buck up, short-stuff. If you didn't want a kid with Pandora-level issues, then you shouldn't have taken in a bunch of Winchesters. Now, get over there and help mom with that grocery list. I need apples for the pies. And don't you dare bring me Red Delicious—they may as well be painted potatoes. I want Mutsu or Jonagold, understand?"

"Aye aye, captain!" Gabriel saluted and tried to smile. "And Dean? I'm sorry if I overstepped any lines. I really wasn't trying to upset him. And I definitely never want him to fear me."

"I know," Dean said, nudging the archangel one more time.

He made his way to Sam's old room, rehearsing what to say. Winchesters were a volatile bunch. But Sam easily forgave—sometimes, too easily.

Dean lightly tapped on the door. It was met with silence, and he figured Sam was still asleep. He opened the door as quietly as possible and froze.

A mountain of white fur with eyes bluer than Castiel's stared at him from the bed. The lips curled back, revealing rows of sharp teeth. The effect was not entirely welcoming.

"I brought food," Dean whispered, "and I wanted to be here when he woke up." He mentally cursed. Since when did he ask a dog for permission to see his brother? Yet, looking at them now, it felt like the right thing to do.

Dean had thought of the canine as a bodyguard who hung out in case of an attack—not one who guarded the kid's sleep after an emotional blowout. But seeing Sam curled into the mess of fur, one massive front paw slung over his tiny back, Dean understood the role extended beyond physical protection.

Morpheus watched him step into the room and carefully close the door. Dean stood awkwardly at the end of the bed, unsure how to proceed. He'd never been alone with Morpheus without a translator, and he hadn't counted on the dog being awake.

After a minute of watching Dean shuffle his feet, the canine nodded his head toward the desk. Dean quickly sat down, clutching the tote in his lap. At least he wasn't stuck standing in the middle of the room until Sam woke up.

Morpheus huffed, and Dean looked up in time to see bright blue eyes roll in exasperation.

"What?" Dean whispered defensively. Surely, the dog didn't think he was going to just leave the food and go.

The eyes focused on the tote bag as a giant tongue licked across monstrous lips. Then, Morpheus looked pointedly at the desk. When Dean didn't move right away, the canine repeated the gesture, eyes flicking between the desk and the bag.

"You…want me to put the food on the desk?" Dean asked, feeling stupid. Morpheus nodded. "Okay. Sure." Dean pushed a pile of books to the side and tried to keep the bag from crinkling too loud as he followed the instructions. _I'm following instructions from a dog. This is my life now._

Morpheus grinned, and Dean answered with a tight smile. He hoped Sam would wake up soon and end the awkwardness. _Where's Cas when I need him?_ he wondered, rubbing sweaty palms on his pant legs.

Another huffed breath drew Dean's attention to the bed. This time, Morpheus nodded at him, then swung his head toward the other side of the bed. Dean hoped he understood the gesture.

"You want me to sit on the bed? Next to Sammy?"

Morpheus nodded again, still grinning.

Dean was torn between relief and fear. On the one hand, he wanted to be closer to his brother—needed to feel his breathing and know he was okay. On the other hand, he'd be putting himself next to a pony-sized magical wolf with a mouth that could easily fit around his head.

Sam shifted in his sleep. Dean watched, barely breathing, as his brother's fingers pulled on the tufts of fur and he burrowed closer into the canine's chest. Morpheus lifted his paw off the boy's back, letting him move unencumbered, then replaced it when he settled.

The gentleness always took Dean by surprise. No matter how many times he'd watched the two interact in the past week, he couldn't shake his instinctive fear of the creature. Size and form didn't seem to matter—tiny magical dogs were just as dangerous as giant ones.

Morpheus gave a low whine, and Dean looked away from Sam to find literal puppy-dog eyes turned his way. The tail thumped against the bed as the shifter carefully moved to nose at the far pillow without disturbing Sam.

Dean sighed. There was no defense against such a plea. _Damn you, Sammy! It's your fault I can't deny looks like that,_ he silently cursed as he walked around the bed.

There wasn't much room. Dean cursed his brother again—this time, for only having a full-sized bed. But he squeezed himself onto the edge and carefully scooted over until he was certain he wouldn't fall off. _Cozy._ He didn't know what to do with his arms, so he kept them crossed over his chest.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Dean stared at his feet to avoid the up-close view of the shifter's face. But it meant he also couldn't see Sam, and the urge ate away at him with each passing second until he gave in.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he was relieved to see Morpheus' head resting on the pillow and facing the far wall. It didn't look comfortable, and Dean suspected it was to give him some privacy. Finally, he looked down at Sam.

From across the room, Sam had just seemed like a sleeping lump. But now, Dean could see the tension in the boy's shoulders. And the dried tracks of tears on his face.

All fear of the dog disappeared at the sight. Dean gently brushed the hair away from his brother's face to get a better look. "Did he cry himself to sleep?" he asked in a low tone.

Morpheus raised his head to face him. The concern shone clear in the canine's eyes as he met Dean's gaze and nodded.

"Gabriel told me what happened," Dean continued softly. "I knew Sam was upset, but I didn't think…"

Sam had cried himself to sleep often enough as a child while Dean looked on, powerless to make it better. And always because of their father. But now, they were more likely to wake up in tears from nightmares no other human could fathom. To see his little brother reverting back to his actual childhood behaviors unnerved him.

Dean stared at Morpheus, needing answers. "Gabriel said Sam didn't like that they'd watched the tape from his kidnapping. That Sam thought it was none of their business."

Morpheus tilted his head, then nodded.

"Cas said that Gabe called Sam 'his child' during the argument, and Sam called him 'sir.'"

Another slow nod.

"Sam's only called one person 'sir' in his entire life, and that was our dad."

Morpheus' brow furrowed with his silent question.

"He—our dad," Dean sighed, searching for the right words, "he was a military vet before we were born. After our mom died and he became a hunter, I think he saw himself as a soldier again. Only the war had changed. And we were his troops. He gave us orders and expected us to obey. Insisted we call him 'sir' as a sign of respect. I think we called him 'sir' more than 'dad' most days."

Dean looked down at Sam and brushed his fingers through the baby curls again. It grounded him. Reminded him that things were different now.

"Sam hated it. He'd push back—either stay silent or say 'fine' instead. Sometimes, Dad wouldn't even say anything. He'd just get in Sam's face until the kid broke down. And if that didn't work, he'd make Sam do extra laps until the kid was puking."

John had preferred using 'extra training' as a form of punishment. It was only on rare, whisky-fueled occasions that he'd resorted to harsher methods. The memory made Dean shudder.

Shaking his head, Dean turned his eyes back to the canine.

Morpheus didn't seem surprised by Dean's words. He radiated calm understanding. It made Dean wonder if Sam had talked about their dad, or if the canine already suspected. Take away the supernatural elements, and their story wasn't that unique. But he'd be damned if Sam had to relive any aspect of it this time around.

Dean leaned in close and dropped his voice even lower. "Did anyone touch him?"

Morpheus' eyes narrowed, matching Dean's fierceness. He shook his head 'no' in a sharp jerk. The coiled fear in Dean's chest eased slightly.

"Did anyone _look_ like they _might_ touch him?" he continued.

Morpheus gave another quick 'no' before reaching the paw already over Sam's back to press against Dean's leg. A soft growl rumbled through the room.

Dean braced himself, unwilling to back down as Morpheus' face came closer. Hot, wet puffs of air blew against his neck as serious blue eyes filled his vision. There was no challenge behind the look—only a promise.

"You'll keep him safe if I'm not there," Dean said in a breathless whisper, "even from the angels."

It wasn't a question, but Morpheus nodded firmly anyway.

"Good," he sighed.

Fear of the angels hurting Sam had drastically faded over the past couple weeks. Trust slowly built in its place—but it didn't completely erase it. Castiel was the only one he completely trusted without question. He hoped to get there one day with the others. Distrust was too exhausting to maintain long-term.

Morpheus suddenly nuzzled Dean's hair. The move startled him, but he managed to not fling himself off the bed. Not even when a tongue licked along the side of his face, leaving a disgusting trail of slobber in its wake.

"Quit that!" Dean pushed uselessly at the unmovable head.

Morpheus ignored him, continuing to lick his hair and ear like he frequently did to Sam. It made Dean squirm, and he bit back the laughter building in his throat. Instead, he raised his shoulder to protect the side of his face.

"You are ruining a perfectly good moment here!"

Morpheus chuffed, the canine equivalent of a laugh, and got in one more lick across Dean's nose. Dean remained contorted, his ear pressed against his shoulder and eyes squeezed shut, until he was sure the slobber-attack was over. He felt the bed shift and opened his eyes to find Morpheus' grinning from a respectable distance.

"Is that how you get Sam to listen to you? Lick him into submission?"

The canine just snorted.

Dean wiped his face with the bottom hem of his t-shirt, hiding his smile behind the fabric. Maybe having a dog wasn't so bad after all. _I'm getting soft in my old age._

"If you start licking me to make me listen," said a small sleepy voice, "I will bite you."

Dean and Morpheus both froze, giving each other sheepish looks. _Oops._

* * *

Sam awoke to the sensation of being bounced and jostled. He felt drunk with sleep, his mind slow and confused. For a second, he thought he was in the Impala and that Dean must have gone over potholes or speedbumps. But then, he realized he was way too warm and wedged between two solid bodies.

Dean's voice reached him through the heavy fog. The tone of playful-outrage set Sam at ease even though the words themselves were lost in the space between sleep and waking. He heard a rumbling sound, and his brother speak again. This time, he understood the words.

"Is this how you get Sam to listen to you? Lick him into submission?" Dean asked in a semi-disgusted tone.

 _Lick me into submission? What the hell…?_ Sam opened his eyes to find a wall of white. Well, that cleared one thing up. Obviously, Morpheus was involved. And licking. Which reminded him…

"If you start licking me to make me listen, I will bite you," Sam said, trying to sound forceful. The effect fell short, muffled by the blankets and his own mumbling.

" _Shit_. I didn't mean to wake you up," Dean whispered. "I—we can be quiet if you want to go back to sleep."

Sam frowned. _Why does Dean care about waking me up?_ he wondered, starting to push the blankets away. Then, the events preceding his sleep slammed into focus—the fight in the yard, that stupid tape, Gabriel's face scowling down at him, claiming Sam as his own. He kept a tight hold on the covers and pulled them back over his head.

"Hey! I said you could go back to sleep, not smother yourself to death," Dean chuckled.

Hands gently pulled the blankets from Sam's grasp even as he fought them. He didn't want to face anyone right now. If he could burrow through the bed to hide underneath it, he would.

A cold, wet nose pressed its way under the blankets and snuffled at Sam's hair. Sam tried to squirm away, but Dean's body left him nowhere to go. A tongue followed the nose, lapping at his face. He couldn't even yell at them for fear of getting his mouth licked, so he settled for clenching his jaw and growling in protest.

 _Very impressive, pup,_ Morpheus said, sounding amused. _Are you ready to yield? Your brother brought food._

Sam nodded, and the canine retreated. The blanket fell away, revealing Dean's face hovering above him. Sam met his worried expression with a scowl.

"Morning, sunshine!" Dean said with an overly-cheerful smile. "Actually, I guess it's more like, 'late-afternoon-early-evening, sunshine,' now."

Sam ignored him in favor of scrubbing at his face. His eyes itched, and everything felt swollen. Crust came away from the corners of his eyelids, and he flicked it away in disgust.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked in a more serious tone.

Sam shrugged without answering. He knew what Dean was referring to. It wasn't a coincidence that his brother had braved wedging himself on the bed with Morpheus. Clearly, the angels had informed him of the incident.

Shame curdled his stomach as he remembered screaming at Gabriel. How could he forget about the angel those Brits had tortured? How could he not realize how close he came to losing Castiel and Gabriel to that egg-weapon? Was he really that selfish?

"Hey." Fingers tapped at his chin, nudging Sam's face up to meet Dean's worried gaze. "Talk to me, dude."

"I—" Sam's voice cracked. Tears welled up in his eyes faster than he could blink them away. _Fucking grace!_ he cursed, pressing his palms against the flood.

"Aww, Sammy," Dean sighed, "come here."

Hands plucked him from the bed. Sam found himself against Dean's chest before he could protest. The smell of leather and gunpowder had faded in the past weeks, now replaced by kitchen spices and herbs. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm down.

"I messed up, Dean," he whimpered.

"What?!" Dean scoffed softly. "No, bud. You had an argument. It's okay."

"No!" Sam pushed back, away from the safety of his brother's heartbeat. "You weren't there—you didn't see…I was so stupid, and s-selfish, and mean. I forgot…I forgot that his brother had been taken, and we almost lost Cas, and I yelled at Gabriel, and made him angry!" He could hear himself rambling, and knew he wasn't making sense.

"Dude. Breathe." Dean smiled and wiped his face with his sleeve. "You are not stupid or selfish. It's okay that you forgot some stuff after we rescued you. You've had a lot going on, and it's not like we did a debrief afterwards. Which was my fault. I told them you'd need space when we got back, and to not press you for details. And I promise—Gabe is definitely not angry."

"You weren't there, Dean!" Sam insisted, cutting him off.

"Sam, listen to me." Dean leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "You had an argument, and you both said some stuff in ways that probably came out a little wrong. But Gabe is _not angry._ In fact, I had to stick him with Mom on grocery duty to calm him down. He's probably weeping and fretting all over the damn kitchen by now instead of getting my freakin' apples."

Sam blinked, uncomprehending. "What? Why…"

"Because he knows he upset you. And he knows he scared you."

Sam pushed Dean's face away. "He didn't…I wasn't…"

"Sam," his brother's voice was firm, but gentle, "you called him 'sir.'"

The very word made Sam's throat constrict, not allowing sound or air to pass. He shook his head, trying to deny it all, but Dean saw through him. Morpheus did too.

 _Sam, look at me._ Morpheus waited until Sam tore his gaze away from Dean. _What do you think you've messed up?_

Sam glanced back at Dean. But his brother was staring oddly at Morpheus like he was trying to hear him speak. He suddenly wished he could talk to the canine over angel radio—some things were just easier to say silently.

 _Deep breath, pup. Your brother assures us that Gabrieloki is not angry._ Morpheus nosed against Sam's hair without licking. _I have worked for many gods—cared for their godlings. I know them well enough to recognize there are different types. Some are dominant, commanding militants. Some are possessive and overbearing. Others are flighty and shallow, too self-obsessed to remember they even have children._

Sam swallowed, trying to relax his throat. "Which type is Gabriel?"

Morpheus dropped his head down to nuzzle at Sam's hands, where his fingers twisted and dug into his palm. Slowly and methodically, he began to lick and push at the hands until they separated. He continued the soothing gestures as he answered.

 _Gabrieloki is none of those. He is more like my own Mother-goddess, Hecate. She is a fierce protector of all beings she deems her own. A need for justice drives her, and her store of wisdom guides her. But just as she is a Maiden and a Crone, she is also a Mother. She creates and nurtures life, and is devoted to all her children. Gabriel is like her. He has many faces, many forms. As an archangel, he delivered his Father's messages and justice. As the trickster god, Loki, he was a father and a mother, and continued to protect humanity by pursuing those who hurt others._

Sam stared down at Morpheus, barely blinking. "And now?" he whispered.

 _Now, he is both. He is Gabrieloki—mother, father, messenger, trickster._ Morpheus raised his head so they were eye-level. _When he came to my Mother seeking my help, I asked him what he wanted for himself. Do you know what he said?_

Sam shook his head.

 _He listed only hopes he had for you—happiness, peace, safety. And when I asked again what_ _ **he**_ _wanted, he told me he already had more than he knew possible. A home where he can be himself, and a flock who accepts him._

"He said that?" Sam asked. He thought about the moment they'd learned Gabriel's true identity. The story of the archangel running from his broken family to escape his own destruction still resonated strongly with Sam. And in the end, they both sacrificed their lives to stop the fighting.

Gabriel was nothing like John. Nothing like the man who sacrificed his life so the fighting could continue. The man who claimed to do things for their protection, but always made Sam feel he was under guard instead of safe. The man who taught him and Dean that the lives of others were always more important than their own.

"He said what? What's anyone saying?" Dean whispered intensely. "I am so lost. Did we learn what 'type' Gabriel is yet?"

Sam jumped, forgetting that his brother had heard almost none of their conversation. "Morpheus was telling me his first impressions of Gabriel."

Dean grinned. "I wish there was video."

Sam felt a smile tug at his lips—his brother's amusement was always infectious.

 _So, pup,_ Morpheus placed his paw on Sam's lap, _now that you are more calm and awake, do you still believe you've messed something up?_

The smile fell away.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Dean asked, serious once again.

"I don't know how to fix this," Sam finally admitted.

"What's broken?"

Sam shrugged. It was like saying the words out-loud would shatter everything. He didn't even know what words to say.

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Come here," he said, opening his arms in invitation. "Come on, get your tiny butt over here."

Sam reached for him, and let Dean settle them back against the headboard. The familiar heartbeat was slower now, and easier to hear when his own blood wasn't roaring in his ears. Dean's hands rubbed circles across his back.

"It's hard to believe how fast everything's changed, huh?" Dean murmured. Sam nodded, and let him speak. "Seems like yesterday it was just us against the world. And now, we've got a home, and a mom, and a dog, and a bunch of angels all living on top of each other. But we're all just people, Sam. And people make mistakes. You and I make mistakes all the time. Sometimes, it only affects us. And sometimes, we unleash a new apocalypse on the world."

Sam and Morpheus snorted in unison. Dean reached over and tentatively scratched behind Morpheus' ears. The canine looked surprised, but soon relaxed and stretched closer in delight.

"I think it's fair to say, this mistake is not apocalypse-level. It isn't even a routine salt-and-burn level. It _might_ reach 'sorry I froze your computer with porn again' level, but even that's probably pushing it."

Sam let his fingers trace the edges of a button on Dean's shirt as he listened. "What if his brother, the one the Brits tortured, is dead?"

"Dead or alive, whatever happened to that angel is on the Brits. Not you." Dean tugged at Sam's hair. "And Sam—Gabe isn't Dad."

"I know," Sam answered quickly.

"You sure? Because you're acting more like the time you accidentally broke Dad's gun trying to clean it than someone who got in a little argument."

Sam flinched at the memory. "I guess I…I don't know. I didn't mean to call him…that. It just happened."

"Are you upset because you called him 'sir?' Or because he scared you enough to make you say it accidentally?"

"Both," Sam reluctantly admitted. He felt Dean nod.

"What about now? Are you still scared of him?"

Sam thought about it. His emotions had been all over the place the whole day. Sleeping hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped. But the fear had reduced down to nervous tension mixed with shame.

"I'm not scared of Gabriel. I think he just caught me off guard, and all I saw was an angry archangel." His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes against the flash of memories. Worse memories of a far worse archangel.

Dean made a noise, and his hand returned to rub Sam's back. They sat there for a long while, taking comfort in each other's presence. Sam found himself drifting, finally finding some peace, when the silence was interrupted by a loud growl from Dean's stomach.

"And on that note—do you want to go to the kitchen for dinner or eat here? I brought a bag of food just in case."

"I'm not hungry," Sam said automatically. It was true—his stomach had been unsettled since before the argument.

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that," Dean sighed. "How about this—would you be up to talking to Gabe tonight?" Sam tensed, and Dean quickly continued, "Because I honestly don't know which one of you is more upset about the whole thing. You've both worried yourselves sick. And dude—tomorrow's Thanksgiving! I want you to be able to relax and have fun."

The enthusiasm in Dean's voice was easy to read. And it was genuine, not forced just for Sam's sake. Their first Thanksgiving with their mom was definitely something to celebrate.

Sam groaned, and pushed back so he sat across from his brother. Dean was right—everyone would be on edge if he and Gabriel didn't talk. And it made no sense to wait till morning.

"Fine," Sam conceded, rubbing his face. He felt so tired still.

"Awesome," Dean's grin lit the room as he ruffled Sam's hair. "You want me to be here, or…?"

Sam batted his hand away. "No, it's cool. I'm sure you've got a million things to get ready for tomorrow."

"Hey," Dean waited until Sam looked at him. The smile was still there, but his eyes were serious. "If you want me here, nothing else matters."

"Pie doesn't matter?" Sam asked with a half-smile.

"Not as much as you, dude. And if you aren't comfortable…"

"Dean. You have become such a therapist in your old age. Go make pie. Please. I'm sure Morpheus can provide enough support to get me through a single conversation." Morpheus snorted from where he laid with his head on the pillow. "Besides, if it gets too awkward, I can just ride him out of here."

Dean laughed and stood up to stretch. "And what—go live in the woods?"

"You could leave me food by the fire," Sam said, "and books so I don't turn feral."

"Whatever. You wouldn't last without wifi for more than a day." Dean went to the desk and pulled a bottle of water from the bag. He tossed it to Sam. "Stay hydrated, lost boy. And don't forget to feed Morpheus. There's food for both of you in here. I'll check on you once the kitchen is set for tomorrow."

Sam waved him off, and focused on opening the water. The sound of the door opening and closing made his stomach twist. A paw pushed against his leg, and he looked up to find Morpheus staring at him.

"What?"

 _It's okay if you'd rather wait till tomorrow to talk to Gabriel._

"No, it's fine. I'm being silly." The lid finally came off and he took a sip. The cold water felt good on his throat. "It's the grace…I think. It makes my emotions go haywire, and I can't stand feeling out of control. I wasn't even this way as a kid. But Dean's right—if I don't talk to him now, I'll work myself into a frenzy again by morning."

 _I would rather you slept until morning._

Sam rolled his eyes and climbed off the bed. "That may not happen regardless of how this conversation works out." He gathered the books he'd dropped by the door and placed them on the nightstand before climbing back up. It wouldn't be good for the angels to see Heaven's oldest tomes laying around on the ground like trash.

 _Why do you anticipate trouble sleeping even if your talk goes well?_

Sam shrugged and grabbed the top book. "I just slept. And tomorrow's a holiday. That alone would be enough to throw my sleep schedule off without any emotional drama."

The book had no title, but there was a list of chapters in the front. They were all written in Enochian, and they didn't make much sense. The lines listed didn't seem connected to one another.

Sam turned the page to the first chapter and slowly worked his way through a few lines. He didn't recognize all the words, but what he could read made little sense. Something about water flowing into a stone, and life, and a blade. It was either a spell or a terrible nursery rhyme.

A knock at the door made him jump.

"Come in," he called, cursing when his voice cracked.

Gabriel peered into the room like he expected an attack.

Sam studied the archangel. _Dean wasn't kidding—Gabriel looks as bad as I feel. Oh god, how bad do_ _ **I**_ _look?_

"Hey, Samshine," Gabriel said weakly, "is it okay if I join you two?"

"Well, I think it might be hard to talk with only your face in the room." Sam smiled and patted the mattress in front of him.

Relief shone in Gabriel's eyes as he quickly entered the room. He didn't bounce his way onto the bed in his usual fashion, but he did climb up and sit cross-legged in the middle. "How are you doing, kiddo?" he asked in a quiet tone.

Sam felt tears try to return, but he blinked them away and huffed a small laugh. Why had he been so nervous? This was _Gabriel_ —the archangel who loved candy too much, and who fretted over Sam's bathwater temperature. Seeing the ancient being sitting barefoot on his bed, picking at the strings on his pants, made any earlier echoes of John disappear.

"A lot better, actually," Sam answered.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Really? You don't _look_ a lot better."

"That's rich," Sam scoffed, poking at Gabriel's leg with his toes, "considering you don't look all that great yourself."

The archangel's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Sassy brat! I always look great, thank you."

Morpheus gave a loud yawn. _You both look like shit. The only clear winner here is me._

Sam splashed water from his bottle onto the shifter, careful to not let any fall on the book. Morpheus simply chuffed and licked Sam's face. Revenge dispensed, the canine settled back on the pillow.

Gabriel smiled at their antics, but the worry didn't disappear from his eyes. Nor the sadness. Leaning forward, he slowly closed the book in Sam's lap and placed it on the nightstand. Then, he gathered Sam's hands between his own and held them gently.

"Sam, I am so sorry. I should never have yelled at you like I did. I don't," he took a deep breath before continuing, "I don't ever want to give you reason to fear me. _Ever._ Okay? That's not who I am. That's not how I want _us_ to operate."

"I know," Sam cut in, "and I'm sorry too. I should have told you about the angel—your brother. And I shouldn't have told you that… _all that_ …was none of your business. I'm just…I'm not used to anyone besides Dean getting that worked up over my safety or wellbeing."

"It's been a long time since I had anyone in my life to get worked up and worried over. And let's face it," he grinned, and ran his thumbs over Sam's wrists in a familiar gesture of calming, "you Winchesters have needed someone to fret over you besides Cassie. Besides, once you claimed him as an honorary Winchester, he became as bad as you at getting into trouble."

Sam nodded, unable to deny it. Castiel really was as bad as them. And when the angel worried about them, he tended to try and fix everything himself. Usually with disastrous results.

"Sam, can I ask you something?" Gabriel's nervousness was back, and Sam swallowed hard at the sight. He felt his heartrate soar, and knew the archangel noticed the difference too. "You don't have to answer, of course, but it—"

"Sure," Sam interrupted. Listening to an anxiety-ridden ramble would only make things worse. Better to rip the band-aid off all at once.

"Was it my yelling that scared you? Or the words I said?"

Sam froze, dropping his gaze to their hands. The yelling hadn't helped matters, but Sam was rarely bothered by shouting or loud noises. It was the words, spoken in a low tone, that had caused the most panic— _My fledgling, my child, my responsibility, my business. Understand?_ Shouted or whispered, those words still inspired a terror Sam couldn't identify or understand.

"Words," Sam answered.

Gabriel sucked in a breath. Sam peered up through his bangs to find the archangel nodding, a sad look on his face.

"Yeah, I thought that might be the case," he sighed. "Listen, Sam—I probably shouldn't have said those things in that moment, but that doesn't mean they aren't true. I see everyone in the flock as mine, just like I'm all of yours. But being my child doesn't make me your dad. And I don't just mean 'I'm not John.' I mean 'I'm not your parent.' I don't get to make decisions for you, and you aren't expected to obey me, 'or else.'"

"You won't send me to bed early for not finishing my dinner?" Sam gave a watery smile, but his voice shook.

"Heaven help us if that were a rule! You'd be back in bed by breakfast," Gabriel tried to joke, "but no. There will be no punishment/reward system between you and I. If we make mistakes, we'll deal with them as adults. We'll talk through things, give each other space as needed. If trust is broken or feelings get hurt, then we'll work to repair them."

"How can I?" Sam asked, feeling lost. Thoughts of the poor angel being held captive for over a year by the Brits wouldn't leave him. He'd barely survived twenty-four hours with them. Could he forgive someone who'd failed to mention knowing Dean's location if the situation were reversed?

"How can you what, Sam?"

"Repair what I broke?"

Gabriel looked confused. "What did you break?"

"Trust," Sam answered, his chest tightening again, "by not telling you what the man said. About your brother."

"Oh, Sam. No," Gabriel said firmly, scooping the boy off the bed and into his arms.

The sudden change startled Sam, but then his grace settled, making him realize just how frantic it had been. He exhaled in relief into Gabriel's shoulder. A hand ran over his wings, making them shudder, then still. Sam almost groaned—it was like the moment a migraine suddenly dissipated after hours of agony.

" **There you go. Does that feel better? You had quite a storm brewing in there,** " Gabriel murmured softly.

Sam nodded, rubbing his face against the archangel's shirt. His head felt too heavy to lift. The hand trailed up from his wings to lightly dig into the nape of his neck. His muscles melted.

" **Good. Now, I want you just relax and listen to me for a minute. What happened was not your fault, Samuel Winchester. I only mentioned what that man said to show that the situation was larger than just your kidnapping. I did not mean that** ** _you_** **are to blame in any way. If there had been no tape, then I would have asked you to talk about it. I needed to know what had happened so I could help you—not to place blame or judge you. You did nothing wrong.** "

" **But I broke trust,** " Sam insisted **.**

" **No, little one. You broke nothing. I trust you. It is time to let it go. You are not responsible for the world.** "

No matter how many times he heard those words, Sam still felt a knee-jerk impulse to deny them. But before he could argue, a rush of warm grace flowed over him. It tingled along his skin and made his own grace curl in contentment against it. Exhaustion threatened to drag him back to sleep, but he managed to get one more question in first.

 _Promise?_ he asked, grace-to-grace.

 _I promise,_ Gabriel assured. _Now go to sleep, and dream of peace and pies and puppies._

Sam felt himself be lowered back onto the bed. He turned on his side, curling into the mountain of fur waiting for him. The blankets were pulled up over his shoulders. A kiss grazed his forehead, and he was asleep.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
I should never go so long in between updates again.  
Or write when I'm sick.  
Because THIS is the result.  
THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT!  
I LOVES YOU ALL 333

And I'm sorry for taking so long getting back to folks in comments! FFN's comment system is so broken sometimes, and it makes it super hard to figure out who I've answered and who I haven't. If y'all ever want to talk or ask me questions, feel free to message me on Tumblr!  
My user ID is the same as here: theriverscribe. And don't forget my sideblog dedicated to this story/series: spn-bythegraceofgod.


	34. Teach Your Children pt5

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN** **  
PART 5: And You, Of Tender Years...  
**

Castiel did not understand the importance of apples. How could such a simple fruit have so many varieties? Seventy-five hundred seemed a little excessive in his opinion.

Thanksgiving was also problematic for him—he had witnessed the atrocities that occurred during the colonization of the New World. The stories passed down through the centuries were storybook fantasies that erased the true horror of that time.

But he understood the day meant something very different to most Americans now. It was a day of gratitude, and remembrance. A celebration of blessings, both large and small. And the Winchesters had a lot to celebrate.

So, instead of questioning the holiday or apples, he listened intently as Mary gave Gabriel instructions on the ingredients needed. Gabriel took her list, making notes along the margins about the best locations and harvests for each item. He left, nervously promising that he'd be back in less than half an hour and begging them to pray to him if he was needed.

Gabriel reappeared three minutes later, arms laden with bags and surrounded by crates of produce. A chicken jumped from a basket of dried corn with a loud squawk. Mary jumped, then scowled at the archangel.

"What?" Gabriel asked innocently. "There was a sale! We go through a lot of popcorn in this place!"

"And was there a sale on _live chickens,_ too?" Her hands went to her hips.

"Oh," Gabriel's face fell, "no. She was an accident. I didn't realize there was a stowaway."

"Gabriel, we are not killing chickens in this house. Bunker." She huffed in annoyance, trying to find the right word to describe their living location. "Home. We are not killing chickens in this home!"

"No! Of course not!" Gabriel rushed to reassure. "No chicken killing—I promise! I'll…uh…" he snapped his fingers and the chicken disappeared. "I sent her to this local humane egg farm where she'll roam free through insect-rich fields and sleep in clean roosts at night."

"Better," Mary said. She looked around at all the wooden crates and woven baskets. There was a lot more than she'd asked for on her list. "There was a sale?"

"A few sales," Gabriel admitted. "We really were running low on several things I consider staples for the pantry."

Castiel lifted the lid on a clay pot. It was filled with lavender-infused honey. He dipped a finger into the amber liquid and tasted it. The flavors were beyond anything else he'd ever experienced.

"Am I right, Cassie?" Gabriel asked, shooting him a wink.

"Absolutely," Castiel agreed. "These are all complete necessities." He smiled, and returned the wink. But he could never seem to make his face move fast enough to be effective.

Gabriel sputtered a laugh, making Castiel realize everyone was looking at him.

Mary sighed in exasperation, but the smile tugging at her lips told him she was more amused than frustrated. "I'm sure," she peeked into a crate, "twenty pounds of baker's chocolate is a thing found in most pantries. Just like I'm sure," she pulled the lid off a tall ceramic jug and made a face, "whatever this is was absolutely necessary. Actually, what the hell is this?"

"It's fresh cream!" Gabriel said, rushing over to replace the lid. "And it needs to stay sealed. I magicked the container to keep it preserved."

Together, they worked to fit the various crates and jars into the now-expanded pantry room. The small space had gradually grown in the days since the archangel had joined them. Now, what once was the size of two refrigerators was now several times larger than the kitchen itself. Dean had grumbled a few times—until the day he discovered the cold-meat storage area, full of steaks and slabs of bacon.

Castiel hoisted a bag of brown rice to onto a shelf, smiling in anticipation of Dean's reaction to Gabriel's most recent haul of food supplies. As much as the hunter loved cooking, he hated going grocery shopping. Or shopping of any kind, for that matter.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Castiel returned for another load to find Dean standing amidst the chaos. "Dean," he said, rushing over, "how is Sam?"

Dean met his eyes, and Castiel almost winced. Exhaustion made his face look bruised. The pain was old and heavy, and Castiel wished he could carry some of it for him.

"Sam is…Sam," Dean sighed.

Gabriel rushed back into the kitchen, knocking over Raphael in his haste. "Dean! You're back!"

Castiel watched as Dean smiled through the exhaustion, trying to appear much more cheerful for the archangel's sake. "I am—and so are you, along with half a market!"

"How is he?" Gabriel asked, once again a bundle of nerves.

"He's fine. Or he's gonna be fine once you two talk for, like, ten seconds."

"Talk?" Gabriel looked surprised. "He's willing to talk to me?"

"Of course he'll talk to you—this is Sam we're talking about." Dean rubbed his eyes. "He's still a little freaked, but that'll only stop once he sees you're not mad at him. You're not, right? Mad at him?"

"No!" Gabriel's eyes went wide in distress. "I wasn't even mad at him outside!"

"Not even about your other brother those bastards talked about?" Dean pushed, pinning Gabriel with narrowed eyes. "The one Sam forgot to mention in the aftermath?"

"What?! No, I would never be mad at Sam for that!"

"Good," Dean nodded, fighting a yawn, "because he'd pick up on it right away if you were. Kid's always been good at seeing through fake feelings."

"Gabriel, perhaps you should go talk to Sam now while he's still awake," Castiel suggested. Dean's energy was quickly fading—a testament to how much his conversation with Sam was weighing on him. "He will likely become worried if you delay. You should not leave him alone with his thoughts too long."

Gabriel nodded, and wiped his hands on a towel. The whole kitchen was coated in dirt from the crates, and half of it seemed to cling to the archangel. Grunting in frustration when he realized the dirt was smearing instead of leaving, Gabriel snapped himself clean.

For a second, Castiel thought his brother would run from the room, but then Gabriel walked over to them. "Thank you, Dean," he said, grabbing the hunter in a fierce hug.

Dean grinned and patted the shorter being on the back. "Go on, you sap. Sam's probably half-asleep by now. Morpheus and I accidentally woke him up."

Gabriel chuckled, and pulled away. "You'll have to tell me about it tomorrow. Don't stay up too late, kids."

Castiel smiled as his brother left. Knowing that Sam was going to be okay was a huge relief. Witnessing the conflict between the two had been unsettling enough—he could only imagine the turmoil it had caused them.

"Is he really okay?" Mary asked from the pantry door. Raphael stood behind her. They wore identical worried expressions.

Dean grimaced before turning around to face her with a smile firmly in place. Only Castiel saw the toll all this was taking on the man. "Yeah, Sammy just needs to talk a bit and get some more sleep. He'll be back to his old self by morning. You'll see."

Mary frowned and walked over to the island. "This whole thing—Gabriel calling Sam his child and Sam calling him sir—it's about John, isn't it?"

Dean's shoulders dropped. Stooping down to grab a bushel of apples, he brought them to the island next to his mother. "Yeah," he admitted. "There was some other stuff mixed up in all of it, but Dad was the main issue here."

"Were you," she paused, clearly not wanting to ask the question, but her need for answers made her continue, "were you boys scared of him?"

Dean didn't meet her eyes. A controlled calm settled over him as he began sorting the apples. Castiel had no idea if there was an actual method to Dean's sorting or if he was just trying to keep up appearances.

"Only sometimes," he finally answered in a quiet voice, "if a hunt went wrong, or he'd been drinking too much."

Castiel knew the Winchesters' tendency for drinking in hard times. He'd seen both brothers search for peace in the bottom of a bottle. It disturbed him to think they'd picked up the habit from John-especially considering how alcohol tended to fuel already-present anger. It was not a healthy situation for children.

Tears filled Mary's eyes, but none fell. "I'm so sorry, baby. I-I never wanted you boys to ever _see_ a hunter, let alone…"

Dean set down the apples and swept her into a hug. "Mom, it's okay. It isn't your fault," he reassured. "And it wasn't every day, just once in a…"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Mary huffed, only half-joking. "Just _once_ would be too many times."

"I know," Dean whispered.

Castiel wished he could go back and change everything. Take the boys from John and raise them himself. Prevent Mary's death and Azazel's blood from ever reaching Sam's lips.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Castiel looked up to find Raphael standing beside him. The archangel didn't smile, but warm comfort seeped through their bond. He reached up and covered the grounding hand with his own, pouring his gratitude and love back to the Healer.

"So," Mary sniffed, pulling away from Dean with a watery smile, "I'm guessing Sammy is sleeping in his old room again tonight?"

Dean nodded, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Looks like it. We'll have to wait till tomorrow before trying to lure him back to the other bedroom."

She caught his hand and kissed the back of it. "In that case, I think I'll take a hot bath and go to sleep in my own room too."

"You sure? I mean, I could stay with you if you wanted me to."

Mary smiled and patted his cheek. "No, honey. I'll be fine. I just need to think about some things."

Raphael cleared his throat, startling them all. "Might I suggest journaling? It is an excellent method for organizing one's thoughts and recording them for later reflection."

"That's a wonderful idea, Raphael. Thank you." Mary hugged her son once more. "Don't stay up all night working on pies and side dishes, understand? I want you rested and fresh come morning. If all your stories are to be believed, then Sammy has limited cooking skills and even more limited experience with holidays. I'd like to show him as much as we can of both tomorrow."

Dean grinned. "Yes, ma'am!"

Mary looked like she wanted to protest being called "ma'am" but she held her tongue at seeing a genuine smile on Dean's face. She settled for shaking her head instead and calling him a brat under her breath.

Before she left the kitchen, she gave Raphael a hug as well. And then she turned to Castiel, pulling him down so she could whisper in his ear. "You make sure he gets some sleep tonight, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he promised, just as quiet.

Mary kissed his cheek, and left the kitchen before the blush reached his face.

"I need to return to Heaven again for the evening, but I shall be back before breakfast," Raphael announced.

"Trouble?" Dean asked, instantly on high-alert.

"No, no," Raphael quickly reassured, "just more healing sessions. I'll probably start spending most of my evenings there while you are all sleeping. There is still much to do to get Heaven back in order."

"As long as you're here by breakfast," Dean said, wagging a finger, "I don't wanna hear Gabe bitchin' because you're late."

"Father forbid." Raphael smiled, then disappeared in a whisper of wings.

Dean sighed, and leaned against the counter. All the masks and false energy fell suddenly away, leaving the man barely upright. Castiel felt honored that Dean did not feel the need to pretend otherwise in his presence.

"Dean," he said quietly.

The hunter grunted without raising his head.

Castiel walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "This can all wait until tomorrow. It's been a long day, and you need to sleep."

"No, it's cool," Dean pushed himself upright and scrubbed at his face. Castiel feared he'd been crying, but it seemed more of an attempt to wake himself up than to hide tears. "There's a few dishes that need prepped tonight. But they won't take too long."

"Can I help?" Castiel asked, knowing it was useless to argue.

"You know where the flour ended up in all this mess?"

Castiel nodded and retrieved the sack from the pantry. "What are we 'prepping' tonight?" He used the finger quotes out of habit—and because it never failed to make Dean smile. Tonight was no exception.

Dean's grin was worth the knowledge that he'd been using the gesture incorrectly for years. "Dough for pie crusts!" he announced joyfully.

Dean showed him how to mix and knead the dough, explaining the process as they went. Castiel listened intently. They worked steadily, rolling each final product into a ball and wrapping them in plastic to set overnight.

By the time they finished placing everything in the expanded refrigerator, it was after nine-o'clock. Dean blinked wearily at the kitchen, as though debating what to do next. Castiel made the decision for him.

"The rest can wait until tomorrow," he said, looping an arm around the hunter's waist and steering him toward the hall.

"But Cas, I still gotta…" Dean started to protest, but Castiel cut him off.

"It can wait," he insisted. "You are tired, and I promised Mary you would be well rested come morning."

"My _mom_ told you to make me go to bed early?" Dean scoffed. His voice was gruff, but Castiel felt a sharp hipbone try to playfully nudge him.

"Do I need to carry you?" Castiel asked wryly. It wasn't the first time he'd threatened Dean with such an action.

"No," Dean grumbled. But the warning was heeded—he walked all the way to his bedroom without complaint. "Thanks for your help. In the kitchen…and with all the other stuff," he said before going in.

"Of course, Dean," Castiel smiled. "Whatever you need—I'm here."

Emotions flashed across the hunter's face faster than Castiel could interpret them. He caught a twitch in Dean's right brow, blown pupils right before the eyes narrowed, and lips that parted while the jaw clenched. "Right," he swallowed, "well, don't let your brother stress-bake all night. I don't want to wake up and find he's time-warped my kitchen and spent three months cooking."

"You…don't want him to do the time warp? Again?" Castiel asked as dead-panned as possible.

Dean blinked. "Did you…did you just make the reference I think you made?"

Castiel allowed a slow grin. "Maybe." It was Gabriel's fault—he'd taken to making them watch movies while their charges slept. _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ had premiered in the early morning hours three days ago. "You didn't strike me as one who enjoys musicals."

"Yeah, well," Dean huffed a flustered laugh and rubbed his face, " _Rocky_ ain't exactly _Oklahoma._ "

"The state?" Castiel asked, suddenly confused.

"The—good night, Cas." Dean patted him on the shoulder and shuffled into his room.

"Good night," Castiel said to the closed door. _I'll just wait here then,_ he thought with a sigh.

Rolling his eyes, he walked through the hall towards Sam's room. Gabriel stood outside the boy's door, staring absently at the wall. It seemed Castiel wasn't the only angel feeling adrift with all their humans in separate beds.

 _How did your conversation with Sam go? Are things…better?_ Castiel asked silently, coming to stand next to his brother.

 _Better than I expected, in some regards. Kid had the nerve to try and make_ me _feel better. Of course, he was a worse mess within a few minutes, so I was able to return the favor._ Gabriel shook his head in bewilderment.

 _And in other regards?_ Castiel watched Gabriel's smile slide away.

 _Honestly? I'm worried about him. Sam's carrying so much guilt around, he can't understand how people could care about him, or even want him._

 _I believe that is a general Winchester trait,_ Castiel agreed.

 _What's he gonna do when he meets the host, Cassie? From what Raphael's told me, the few angels who've learned Sam's identity have quickly embraced him as the new baby. You think they'll all be as conscious of human psychology when it comes to keeping their enthusiasm under wraps?_

 _I'm telling Sam you called him the 'new baby.'_

 _Pffft,_ Gabriel waved him off, _he's heard me say it. But seriously—Sam has an extended family now. He's gonna meet them eventually. And unless they all suddenly learn to cover their protective instincts, he's gonna freak._

Castiel frowned. He had not thought about Sam meeting their siblings, except in regards to keeping him safe from those who hated the Winchester name. But if Raphael was right, then they might be facing a completely different scenario.

His memories of Heaven's early years were hazy due to Naomi's constant reprogramming. But the few images that remained intact were of bright angels, full of love for each other and fiercely protective over the younger generations. He'd often heard Caretakers shooing non-Caretaker angels from the nursery. It had been a common game among seraphs to sneak in and play with the fledglings.

Teaching fledglings to fly had always been a disastrous season for the other ranks. The cry of a little one who'd stumbled or grown frustrated was enough to bring an entire garrison's training to a halt. Garrison leaders never tried to stop the seraphs from rushing to help—in fact, they usually led the charge toward Heaven's flying grounds.

He could only imagine their reaction to seeing their newest sibling. The wounds on Sam's soul were obvious with the grace. It reminded Castiel of Kintsugi, the Japanese tradition of fixing broken pottery with gold—only, in Sam's case, there was more grace than soul.

 _Our brothers and sisters have never seen a fledgling like Samuel—they will see his old scars immediately, and wish to soothe him,_ Castiel finally said. _And Sam's only experience with angels beyond those of us here has been extremely negative._

 _No kidding,_ Gabriel grimaced.

 _Perhaps we should introduce him gradually to small, controlled groups,_ Castiel suggested. _That way he does not get overwhelmed by the entire host, and our siblings can be prepared one by one._

 _That's a good idea, although it may take a few centuries to introduce him that way._ Gabriel leaned back against the wall. _I'm considering having the angel guard help out when we start Sam flying in a few days._

 _Oh,_ Castiel felt a jolt of anxiety at the thought of Sam flying, _I hadn't realized we were progressing so quickly._ He also had avoided the angel guard since their arrival. Most of the host despised him, and there was no reason to antagonize those willing to watch over the rest of the flock.

 _He's far enough along in grace work and forming feathers to start learning how to consciously control those wings. And anything that gives him a sense of control is going to help alleviate some of his anxieties. Besides,_ Gabriel snorted, _if we don't teach that kid to fly in a controlled setting soon, he's gonna start accidentally flinging himself places._

 _He did that once, before he even had wings,_ Castiel reminded him.

 _A testament to Sam's power. Although, it was less flying and more like his grace just pushed him up the tree faster than his brain could process. But, yeah—he's gonna be a terror to teach, I can tell._ Gabriel shuddered dramatically. _Which is why I'm asking the guard to help. We'll need some extra hands and eyes to keep him within set boundaries while he learns control. I do_ _ **not**_ _want to have to retrieve him from the Antarctic or the Moon or whatever place he manages to land if things go wrong._

 _You just don't want to explain it to Dean or Mary,_ Castiel said with a knowing smirk.

Gabriel shuddered again. _Nope._

They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the slow breathing past the door. It was shaping up to be a long night. _Are you planning on standing here until Sam wakes up?_

 _Yup._

Castiel nodded. _Then I shall leave you to it. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. There are still things to put away from your trip to the markets._

It felt odd to walk through the bunker alone at night. He'd grown accustomed to stretching out in the bed, keeping Sam and Morpheus safely barricaded between himself and Dean. The hours would pass in either silent conversations with his brothers, or in personal reflection. It seemed wrong for them to all be separated.

Fighting the urge to mimic Gabriel and stand outside Dean's door until morning, Castiel returned to the kitchen. It really _was_ a mess. And Dean hated working in a messy kitchen.

He managed to get all the ingredients packed away before he heard it—a door opening, and the heavy fall of boots along the floor. Sighing, he snapped his fingers and made sure all the surfaces gleamed. Gabriel had taught him a variety of domestic uses for his grace.

"Couldn't sleep?" Castiel asked when the steps stopped at the doorway.

"No," Dean said gruffly. "Figured I may as well get some work done if I'm gonna be awake anyway. No use wasting the time."

Castiel stopped him from going to the pantry by standing in his way. "Resting is not a waste of time, even if you are not asleep."

"Cas," Dean started to protest, rolling his eyes as he geared up for a fight.

Castiel grasped his face gently between two palms. He ran his thumbs over the dark circles painting the skin below the man's eyes, wishing he could wipe away the weariness like dirt. "Dean, you are exhausted."

Dean stared at him, too stunned to speak for a second. Then, he tugged Castiel's hands away from his face. "I know, man. Believe me, _I know._ "

"Then, why can you not sleep?" Castiel wondered if Dean knew he was still holding his wrists.

Dean looked away, flushed. "I…it's too…quiet," he muttered.

"Ah," Castiel smiled. "Gabriel and I have been similarly affected by the change of routine tonight."

"Yeah, I saw him standing guard outside Sam's room. I half…" Dean trailed off, releasing Castiel's wrist with a frown, and scratched the back of his neck.

"You half what?"

"I half expected to find you outside my door, honestly," he finally admitted.

"I considered it," Castiel confessed in turn. "I prefer the nights when we are all together, and I have everyone in my sights. The nights preceding Sam's kidnapping were difficult."

"Ugh," Dean groaned, remembering. "I hope Sam doesn't decide to stay in his room again. I mean, I know Morpheus is there, but still…"

"Yes, he sleeps better when he feels secure. And being surrounded by loved ones provides that safety—for both of you."

Dean laughed and turned away. "You know me, Cas—all I need is a gun under the pillow and a solid four hours and I'm good to go."

"Maybe three apocalypses ago, but now you need at least seven hours. And a gun is not substitute for the security of family." Castiel didn't wait for a response. He simply wrapped an arm around Dean's waist for the second time that evening and directed them back toward the bedroom. "Come on. Back to bed."

"When did you get so bossy?"

"About five minutes after I dragged your ass out of Hell."

"You were a bossy little shit back then, weren't you?" Dean yawned, and his weight sagged. Castiel held him easily, slinging the hunter's arm over his own shoulder to keep him upright. "God, I'm not even drunk," he said as he tripped over his own feet.

"No, but you are tired," Castiel pointed out as he opened the bedroom door with a touch of grace. "And it's been a very long day for everyone."

"It's been a long life."

"That too." Castiel got him to the edge of the bed and made him sit. Kneeling down, he began unlacing the worn-out boots. He made a mental note to find him more comfortable footwear—maybe for Christmas.

"Uh, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel pulled the boot off and started on the other.

"W-what are you doing?"

Castiel looked up into wide green eyes. It was a familiar expression now. Sam usually wore it whenever someone unexpectedly tried to take care of him. _Winchesters_.

"I am taking off your boots so you can lay down," he explained calmly. "You can barely keep your eyes open."

"You don't have to do…"

Castiel pushed him back against the pillow without a word. The blankets were in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed. He shook them out and laid them over Dean who just stared in shock.

Once finished, Castiel kicked off his own shoes and settled on the bed next to him.

"Umm…"

"I will stay so the room is not so empty."

"You don't have…"

"Would you rather I stood in the hallway?" Castiel cut him off. "Because I will if it ensures you remain in bed."

"No! I just…"

"You think that I only take care of Sam because he is child-sized and has grace?" Castiel met Dean's gaze in the dark room.

"Well, you didn't exactly go around dressing, or um, undressing us before. So, yeah. Maybe?"

Castiel frowned. "You have removed or fixed articles of my clothing in the past."

"That's not…I…never mind," Dean's voice trailed off as he hid his face in the pillow. "You can lay down, you know."

Castiel could barely hear the muffled words. Confused by the rapid change in signals from Dean, he scooted down the bed nevertheless. Staring at the ceiling, he listened for the change in breathing that would indicate Dean was asleep.

Twenty minutes later, the hunter was still awake. When he restlessly shifted in the bed for the fifteenth time with a grunt, Castiel turned to face him. "What is wrong, Dean?"

Dean sighed and twisted back around so they could see each other. "Can't stop thinking."

"About what?"

"Everything. Thanksgiving. Mom. Sam. Dad."

"The incident between Sam and Gabriel took a toll on you."

"I—yeah. Anything involving our dad is hard. Growing up, he was my hero. I tried to be just like him, and couldn't understand why Sam had to fight him on everything. He'd do things, knowing it would set Dad off, and I'd get so mad."

"You tried to keep the peace."

"I _tried_ to protect him! Because I knew there was nothing I could do if he pushed Dad past a breaking point. But he never listened."

"Did John have a temper that was easily provoked?"

Dean gave a hollow laugh. "You could say that."

Castiel thought about it, trying to picture Sam purposefully pestering an adult into a rage. "Perhaps it gave Sam a sense of control."

Dean's face scrunched up in confusion. "What? No. That's the stupidest…it was the opposite of control once Dad got mad enough. He'd just explode."

"I have seen you do the same thing on many occasions," Castiel said.

"What? When?"

"When confronting an enemy, knowing the situation will end in battle, you often taunt them into swinging first."

"That's different, Cas."

"Why? Because it's a creature?"

"Because I'm an adult hunter! I have weapons and experience and I'm damn good at what I do. And I don't always feel like letting the monster of the week waste my time with some stupid monologue. I'd rather get it over with so I can get some food, grab a beer, and sleep."

Castiel chose his words carefully. "Sometimes, the tension of waiting for an attack is harder to deal with than the fight itself. Maybe Sam preferred forcing John to lose his temper rather than waiting to see what kind of mood he'd be in that night."

Dean mulled it over. Castiel could almost see the wheels turning as the hunter recalled various incidents from their childhood. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I could never figure out why Sam would choose the worst nights to antagonize him. The nights when he started drinking early, or look for any excuse to call us out no matter how hard we'd tried—weapons were never clean enough, our running time not fast enough. I always tried to appease him, but Sam…Sam dug in until…"

"It is never a child's responsibility to pacify a parent. You should never have been placed in a situation where you needed to protect Sam from _anything—_ let alone, your father."

Dean shut his eyes and buried his face against Castiel's shoulder. "But I was and I failed. I've failed him so many times now."

Castiel adjusted their position, getting his arm under Dean's head. It allowed him to bring his hand up to the hunter's shoulder and draw him closer. "We have all failed each other. But we keep trying—keep working toward making things better. And you are not alone anymore."

Dean nodded without answering. His shoulders shook slightly, and his breathing felt erratic. But no noise escaped him.

Castiel brought his other arm around to rub his back. Offering physical comfort had become second nature with Sam, so he followed his instincts. He wasn't prepared for how _right_ it felt with Dean.

"Go to sleep. You are not alone." He pressed a kiss to Dean's hair and felt him settle. "Not anymore."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
Blame Castiel for this chapter.  
He hijacked everything-the computer, my brain, the world.  
I **swear** we will have the Thanksgiving scene next!  
And I've had some comments about the "action levels" of the fic dropping off. Here's the thing: action in my stories hits like a hurricane. And there is a LOT coming...some pretty soon actually. I promise. But the main motivation of this whole story is healing from traumas, both past and current. The conversations and healing aren't afterthoughts. They aren't there as filler between action sequences. They are the main purpose. And I need the characters to reach a certain place (like with Sam's training) before some of the action can happen. This is gonna be a LOOOONG story ;)  
Thanks for your patience, y'all!  
Remember to come find me on Tumblr: theriverscribe AND/OR spn-bythegraceofgod


	35. Teach Your Children pt6

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN** **  
PART 6: Can't Know The Fears That Your Elders Grew By**

Mary awoke feeling like something was out of place. She blinked until her eyes focused on the less-familiar walls of her private bedroom. That's what was wrong—she was alone.

The clock by her bedside told her it was only 6:15 in the morning. _Too early_ , she thought.

Life before her death had never started so early. Mornings tended to begin around seven-thirty most days. Waking up on weekends after ten o'clock were her favorites. Luckily, Dean had been a fan of sleeping late like her.

Infant Sammy, of course, held his own schedule. It varied day-to-day, but he'd never been a fussy baby. And chances were, if he didn't wake her up then she'd find Dean curled up in the crib with him.

The memory made Mary smile. Stretching, she rolled out of bed. Who knew that her days of sleeping in would end now that her sons were older?

Mary grabbed a sweater, not bothering to change out of her sleep-pants, and made her way toward the kitchen.

Journaling before bed had made her nostalgic. She'd spent almost an hour staring blankly at the paper, unsure where to begin. Anger at John mixed with grief for her boys until the paper swam out of focus. There was too much pain to tackle in a single sitting.

So, she turned to her favorite method of sorting through chaos: lists. She made lists of important dates. Lists of places she'd planned to take the boys as they grew older. Lists of presents Dean had gotten for birthdays and Christmases. And once she started thinking of holidays, she lost herself in listing their little family's traditions.

Her own family had swung between going overboard in celebrating holidays and missing them completely due to hunts. And John's single-mother had tried her best to give him happy memories, but it had always been overshadowed by his absent father. Once she'd married John, they made their own traditions. Her favorite was spending holidays in pajamas.

With that thought in mind, Mary detoured to Sam's room. She came to a halt when she saw Gabriel leaning by her son's door. "Is everything okay?"

Gabriel perked up, gracing her with a broad smile. "Everything's fine," he quickly reassured.

She studied him for a second. "Then why are you standing out here?"

Gabriel shrugged, trying to be nonchalant and failing. "I wanted to be close. Just in case…"

Understanding hit her, and she pulled the archangel into a tight embrace. "Thank you for watching over him," she whispered.

Gabriel blushed. "Well, it was kinda my fault he's sequestered himself. The least I can do is make sure he's okay through the night."

"You may have triggered his behavior, but you weren't the cause of it." She sighed and scrubbed at her face. "Every time I learn something new about John, it makes me want to hitch a ride to Heaven so I can punch him. Hard, in the face. Repeatedly."

The archangel raised his eyebrows slowly. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Mary grinned. "I doubt I could do much damage punching you. But I have learned quite a bit about fighting angels from Dean and Cas' stories."

"Yikes. Yeah, I'm definitely working overtime to stay in your good graces!"

"Do me a favor? When Sam wakes up, tell him to either stay in his pajamas or pick his favorite pair to change into." Mary looked him over, taking in his jeans, jacket, and collared shirt. "And while you're at it, snap yourself up some PJs. You're way too overdressed for the day already."

"I thought humans usually dressed up for special occasions," Gabriel said, confused.

"Not in this family!" Mary turned to leave, then paused. "Is Dean still asleep? I need to give him the dress code memo too."

"Umm, he's still asleep as far as I know." Gabriel's eyes focused on something unseen—a sign he was communicating over angel-radio. "Yeah, Cas says he's still asleep, but should be waking up soon."

"I swear," she sighed, "I will teach these boys the meaning of 'sleeping in' if it's the last thing I do."

"Good luck with that," Gabriel muttered loud enough for her to hear.

Mary silently agreed as she made her way toward her oldest son's room. She opened the door as quietly as possible, and froze. _Well, this is unexpected._

Dean was half-draped over Castiel with one arm wrapped around the angel's chest. Castiel held him close, his right hand lightly running through her son's hair. They were both fully-clothed, yet the moment seemed incredibly intimate.

Blue eyes met her own before she could back out of the room. He raised one finger to his lips, letting her know to keep her voice down. Mary nodded.

"Can you tell him to stay in pajamas today?" she whispered. It was too low for a human to hear, but angels were different. Gabriel could probably hear her at this level from outside.

Castiel frowned, but nodded.

Mary mouthed a _thank you_ and made a hasty exit. She knew Gabriel often teased Dean and Castiel about being together, and they obviously loved each other, but the insinuations were always rebuffed. She had assumed their love was familial. Platonic and non-romantic.

She skipped into the kitchen, warm and giddy with happiness.

Raphael sat at the table, reading a book. "You look very pleased this morning, Mary," he said, smiling.

"I am!" She started the coffee even though she already felt wired with energy.

"And what has you so excited today? Is it this 'Thanksgiving' you mentioned?"

"Well, I am excited about Thanksgiving. We've got a lot of cooking planned for today, and Sammy's going to be with us in the kitchen instead of training outside."

Raphael put down his book. "Are we monopolizing too much of Samuel's time?"

A resounding _Yes!_ echoed in Mary's head, derailing her giddiness. She watched the coffee brew, debating her answer. "I know his training is important—that he could be a danger to himself or others if he can't control his grace. But sometimes…"

"Sometimes?" Raphael prompted gently.

"It's still weird—him not being a baby. I feel like I send him to some elite kindergarten everyday when he should be napping and taking a bottle." She poured the coffee into a mug before it was done brewing. "It's been nice connecting to Dean. We are relearning each other, and I think we're both surprised to find how much we have in common. But he remembers me—there's a foundation to build on."

"And Samuel?"

Mary dumped sugar into her coffee, trying to squash the surge of jealousy. Everyone seemed to have an easy bond with her son except her. She joined the Healer at the table, slouching in her seat.

"I don't think I'm connecting with him as much. He has no memory of me—he barely has other people's memories of me." She took a sip. "The way Dean tells it, John rarely spoke of me. It's like I became this symbol—the murdered wife who must be avenged. The boys lost everything—their parents, home, future—and I was the reason."

"Your death may have been John's reason for revenge, but it was his decisions that robbed the boys of their father and a stable home. And their future is still quite bright." Raphael laid his hand on her back, and Mary felt warmth flow along her spine.

"It's not the future I'd planned for them, but you're right. They do _have_ a future."

"Perhaps we can adjust Samuel's training so you have more time together. After all, he will be a fledgling for many more years. He is already grasping the concepts of control we are teaching him. There is no rush for him to learn everything immediately. We have time."

The thought both relieved and saddened Mary. Knowing that her boys had both died multiple times, and experienced unimaginable traumas, it was a relief to hear that they could now enjoy a long, bright future. But while most parents often dream of their children remaining young forever, Mary grieved over the fact that she would never see Sam grow up. Never experience the towering-but-gentle 'moose' she'd heard so much about.

"I have upset you," Raphael said softly.

"No, not really. It's just hard…the idea that Sam is going to be a child for the rest of my life." Mary looked up from her coffee. "But if the alternative is me having to watch my adult son's soul slowly fall apart, then I'll take an eternal-child and count myself blessed."

Raphael patted her back, then pulled away. "So, was it the prospect of cooking with Samuel that had you so excited when you entered earlier?" His attempt at returning the conversation to a happier topic was obvious. Mary loved him for it.

"Kinda," she said, grinning at the memory of Dean and Castiel.

"Hmm," Raphael hummed thoughtfully. "And the part that is not 'kinda?'"

Mary giggled before she could stop herself. "I _may_ have discovered that Gabriel's teasing was more prophetic than joking."

"Regarding?"

"My son and your brother."

Raphael blinked. "You have two sons. And I have many, many brothers. And Gabriel teases enough to include every single one. You may need to be more specific."

"Dean and Castiel."

"Ah." Raphael smiled, relaxing back into his chair. "I had wondered."

"Really?" Mary asked.

"During the Apocalypse, Castiel turned his back on Heaven in favor of Dean Winchester. He literally fell from grace—his powers diminished as he was cut off from Heaven. Many of us believed that Castiel's flight through Hell to save Dean had created a bond between them. But it soon became apparent that it was more than that."

Mary shuddered at the thought of angels invading Hell to retrieve her boy. She pushed the image aside, focusing on what she'd seen that morning instead. "I thought they were together when I first…returned. They were so in sync, so close. And they took turns watching each other. It reminded me a bit of my parents. But when there were no other signs, I just figured that's how they were. And after I met Gabriel and you, I thought it was an angel thing."

"An angel thing?"

"Yeah, you know," she smiled, reaching out a hand to playfully rub his arm, "you guys are all touchy-feely. Castiel set up the communal bedroom my first night here, and Gabriel acted like it was completely normal. And I've heard stories about Heaven in its earlier days. It sounded like you were all very close and protective. So, I thought that was just how Castiel was with my boys."

"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose that makes sense." Raphael shook his head. "However, you did not know Castiel before he met the Winchesters. He was very isolated from the Host, even as a young angel. It seems he did not find his place until he met your sons. His grace lights up when he is around Dean—just as Dean's soul glows brighter when he is around Castiel."

"In that case," Mary lowered her voice to a conspiring whisper, "I definitely saw them snuggling together this morning."

"Saw who snuggling?" asked a voice from the doorway.

Mary whipped around to see Sam rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Morpheus hovered over his shoulder, filling the entrance to the kitchen. Gabriel tried to push the canine forward from the hallway, muttering about "giant fluffy oafs" keeping him from the coffee. Considering the archangel could easily move the pony-sized canine with his pinky finger, Mary knew he was having fun being dramatic.

"No one," she answered innocently.

Sam squinted at her—a perfect imitation of Castiel. He turned to Morpheus. "Did Mom come in our room earlier?"

Morpheus snorted. Mary couldn't hear his response, but she knew Sam was eliminating all possibilities. She saw the moment his sleepy brain caught on.

"Oh my God," Sam gasped, suddenly more awake. He glanced around the room, taking in each person present. "Where's Dean? And Cas?"

"Sam…" Mary tried to slow him down, worried she'd revealed too much.

"Oh my God!" he practically squealed. Sam turned and pushed against Morpheus' chest. "Move! I have to see."

Morpheus moved, and Mary's heart clenched as Sam darted past him. She had visions of how disastrous the morning might turn—full of screaming and embarrassment and grumpy boys everywhere. But before she could even yell for him to stop, Gabriel caught Sam around the waist and hoisted him into the air.

"Whoa there, mister," Gabriel laughed as he effortlessly carried the bundle of flailing limbs into the kitchen. "How about we give Deano the chance to wake up. If you run in there now, you'll scare him off. And then we'll be stuck with their love-sick staring for another decade or two before they try again."

Sam slumped in the hold. "Fine," he pouted, "but you're not the one who's already been stuck watching them for almost a decade. I have the right to be excited."

"I know," Gabriel said, his voice dripping with sympathy. "You poor thing. I can only imagine how hard it's been."

"Put me down, asshole." Sam gripped the archangel's elbow, trying to pry it off his stomach.

"Asshole?" Gabriel growled. He brought up his other hand and lightly dug his fingers into Sam's side. The boy squirmed helplessly, cursing and laughing at the same time. Gabriel carried him to Mary and grinned. "I believe this heathen belongs to you," was all the warning she had before Sam was dumped on her lap.

Mary grabbed him instinctively before he could fall. Sam stopped struggling the second he landed, looking stunned at the sudden change. She gathered him close, patting his back as he calmed his breathing.

"Yup, this one is definitely mine," Mary said with a smile. She wiped the tears of laughter from his red cheeks and planted a kiss on top of his messy curls. "I see you got my message about pajamas."

Sam picked at the soft fabric of the bright red pants. He wore the matching shirt—white, with a red Superman logo in the center. Dean had picked them out, giving a vague story about roofs and little brothers who thought they could fly.

"Are these okay?" Sam asked shyly. "I know they aren't the ones you wanted…"

"What do you mean, sweetie?"

"Gabriel said you wanted me to wear the footie ones," he said, worry making his words come faster as he continued, "but I can barely move in them. And if we're gonna be cooking all day, I don't want to be sliding all over the floor while carrying stuff."

Gabriel snickered from where he stood by the coffee pot.

Mary shot him a glare. "It seems God's Messenger decided to add a few things to my message."

Sam twisted in her lap to also glare at the archangel. "You liar! I could have killed myself in that thing!"

Gabriel gave up snickering in favor of full-throated laughter. "It would've been your cutest death to date though!"

Mary's gut twisted at the casual mention of previous deaths.

Sam wrapped tiny fingers around her hand, and gave her a look of such understanding it almost broke her heart. His eyes were ancient in that moment. It seemed wrong on a face so young.

"Don't worry, mom," he said lightly. "Dean would kill me if I died before he gets the chance to make me cook."

"Wouldn't stick, anyway," a groggy voice said behind them. Dean made a bee-line for the coffee.

Mary smiled and shook her head at seeing him in t-shirt, robe, flannel pants, and boots. _Baby steps, I guess,_ she thought. Maybe she'd be able to coax him into slippers by next year. Or Christmas.

Castiel stood awkwardly in the doorway, still in his usual attire.

 _Damn angels,_ Mary frowned. His clothes weren't wrinkled. But she knew he never changed them. _This won't do._

"Alright, angels," she said, looking pointedly at Castiel and Raphael. "If you want to participate in the day's festivities, you gotta change."

"Change?" Raphael asked. Castiel looked down at his trench coat, and Mary was relieved he at least understood she meant clothes.

"Pajamas or bust, mister," Mary said firmly. She gestured at Gabriel. "He can help you figure out what to do."

Gabriel snapped, changing the other two's apparel without warning. Castiel seemed to marvel at the soft flannel pants—a blue version of Dean's green set, complete with matching robe. Luckily, he left the seraph barefoot instead of forcing him into identical boots.

Raphael blinked at the change. His usual white dashiki tunic and pants were now royal purple with gold embroidery, and looked soft as satin. Mary was surprised at how _conservative_ Gabriel decided to go.

She looked to the younger archangel and found him grinning slyly. "We'll have to ease those two into more fabulous PJs. Don't worry, I haven't lost my sense of style. I'll have them in the ugliest Christmas sweaters I can find next month." He smoothed his hands over his own chosen set of sleepwear. It looked like someone had taken a simple set of cotton pants and long-sleeved shirt and tie-dyed them with every color available.

"I'm surprised you didn't put _them_ in a onesie," Sam scoffed.

"Christmas," Gabriel whispered.

"Why would you make them wear ugly sweaters?" Mary asked.

Dean snorted as he took the seat across from them. "Welcome to the new millennium. Ugly Christmas sweaters are a thing now. Personally, I think all Christmas sweaters look ugly."

"God, I can't remember the last time we actually celebrated Christmas," Sam said. "It wasn't the year before…?"

"What?! No, it couldn't have been that long ago." Dean shook his head, frowning as he thought it over.

"Dare I ask, 'year before what?'" Mary looked between the two boys, but neither met her gaze. The angels all looked confused too when she turned to them for an answer.

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, the year before my deal was up. Sam did his best to recreate our usual elaborate spread one last time."

"I think we went to a strip club a year or two ago," Sam said absently.

Dean spit his coffee all over the table. "Dude!" he yelled, half choked and coughing.

"Don't 'dude' me," Sam shot back, pushing a puddle of coffee back at his brother who shot back in his chair. "'Dude' _you_! You just sprayed coffee all over us!"

"Yeah, well _you_ just told Mom I took you to a strip club for Christmas!"

"What, so I should lie and say we did something normal? We don't even know what 'normal' people do on Christmas, Dean!"

"Okay, you two!" Mary stopped them before it turned ugly. "There will be no fighting today, understood? No yelling. No stabbing with utensils. And let's keep the name calling to a minimum. Got it?"

Dean nodded hastily, his face beet-red with embarrassment. Sam continued to glare at his brother until Mary turned his face toward her. As soon as their eyes met, all the fight drained away.

"Got it," Sam said.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

They ate a light breakfast of leftovers before getting to work. Mary placed the angels in charge of decorating the library for their meal. It was the most open and inviting space inside the bunker, and had the nicest long wooden tables.

Dean pulled out ingredients to get started, and Mary was glad they'd already worked out the general order the dishes would be cooked. Sam watched in silence from his chair at the table. Morpheus laid sprawled at his feet.

"So, Sammy," Mary started, walking over to him, "how are you at peeling potatoes?"

"No idea." He shrugged and stared at his hands like they were his enemies. "I've only done it a few times, and never as a kid."

"Never?" she asked, grabbing the bag of potatoes from Dean and the peeler.

"Not a lot of potato peeling opportunities when you're living in a motel," Dean said. His voice held a slight edge of warning, though he didn't look up from the marinade he was mixing.

They had talked multiple times about the boys' childhoods during the hours Sam spent training. Mary recognized Dean's attempt at steering the conversation away from darker topics. She decided to respect his lead—for now.

"Well, today is the day you'll make up for lost time!" The ten-pound bag of potatoes looked bigger than Sam when she placed them in front of him. Luckily, the peeler was small and easily fit in his hand.

"How many do I need to peel?"

"All of them," Dean answered.

"Seriously?" Sam looked ready to chuck the giant brown root at Dean's head.

Mary brought the tall garbage can over beside his chair. "Trust me," she said before Dean could say something snarky. "Once they're boiled and mashed, we won't have ten pounds anymore."

She watched Sam carefully begin, a look of intense concentration on his face. Satisfied that he'd be occupied for a while, she moved to help Dean. She felt secure in knowing that any kitchen mishaps could easily be healed by the team of overprotective angels in the next room.

They fell into an easy rhythm. Dean usually took point in the kitchen, leading her and Castiel in their cooking efforts. Mary didn't mind relinquishing control. Not when Dean obviously knew what he was doing, and loved doing it.

Music played softly in the background, courtesy of Gabriel. Covers of classic Christmas songs performed by artists she didn't know. But they were good, and she found herself humming along.

"Where do I put these when they're done?" Sam asked, holding up a perfectly peeled potato.

"Right in here!" She brought him a large mixing bowl for the finished products. "You did a great job for someone who's never done this before."

"Sammy's a perfectionist," Dean said.

"You're better than I am," she confided to her youngest in a whisper. "I can never seem to get all the peel off. It's probably a good thing I never cut your hair either—the only time I tried to use clippers was a disaster."

Sam looked horrified at the prospect, wide eyes darting between her and Dean.

"No one's gonna cut your hair," Dean reassured in a serious voice. "You're free to grow your locks out till they're as long and flowing as you want. Just don't ask me to braid them, because I suck at it."

"Oh, I wasn't…" she glanced at Dean, but he kept his eyes on his work. Turning back to Sam, she still saw lingering anxiety. "I wasn't implying you needed a haircut. I was just saying I should never be trusted with that task if it came up. For anyone—you, Dean, or myself!"

Sam stared her for a second, then nodded. "Dean's really good with hair," he finally said. "I don't know if he can trim or style long hair, but he's as good as a barber with clippers."

"Well, I'll be sure to turn to him if I decide to shave it all off," she said with a wink.

Sam snorted, the anxiety melting away. "Don't give him ideas. He's been dying to cut my hair for years now."

"Nah," Dean said, "I've been _teasing_ you about your hair for years. But it looked good on you."

"Don't lie. You just liked stealing my shampoo because I have higher standards."

"I would never." Dean tried to sound offended, but his smile gave him away.

Mary went back to the counter and gathered her ingredients for the stuffing. She'd always used Stove Top, but Dean had insisted on trying a recipe he'd found. So, instead of a twenty-minute process, she resigned herself to at least a two-hour task. Starting with breaking bread up into tiny pieces.

"You know," she said, bringing everything to the table next to Sam, "I thought for sure Sammy would be blonde."

"Really?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Your hair was so light as a baby. I'd held out hope that Dean would get my hair, but it grew darker and straighter as he got older and I knew he'd end up with John's darker hair. But you looked so much like me—our baby pictures were practically identical."

"Poor mom," Dean muttered.

"Hey!" Mary shot him a scowl before turning back to Sam. "Don't listen to him. We were adorable babies."

"Hmm." He studied her, his eyes roaming over her face and hair as though cataloguing each feature, then dropped his gaze back to the potato. "Well, I don't think I really had blonde hair at any point. It was lighter than Dean's, but never full-blown blonde."

"You don't think?" How could he not know what color hair he had?

"Well, most of our family pictures were lost in the fire," Sam explained, "and Dad wasn't big on taking pictures. I didn't even know…" He cut off mid-sentence, looking suddenly sick.

"You okay, Sam?" Mary felt all her motherly instincts rear up at once. A glance at Dean proved useless. He gave a shrug and shook his head, just as confused as her.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, nodding too much.

"What didn't you know, Sam?" Dean asked in his "let us have it" voice.

"Nothing. It doesn't mat—"

"Sam." Dean drew the name out, warning his brother that he wouldn't drop it.

"It's stupid," Sam mumbled. He stayed quiet for a minute.

Mary and Dean waited him out. She doubted it was stupid—not if it was obviously upsetting him to this degree. A hundred thoughts flew through her own mind as the seconds ticked by, but none of them prepared her for his actual words.

"I didn't know you had blonde hair until I was eight."

Mary blinked, confused beyond the ability to think. She looked to Dean, hoping he had some insight into why Sam would say something so silly. But instead of uncertainty, she found shame.

"What," she started slowly, "does that mean?" Her hair was her trademark—the one thing that stood out to everyone she met.

"I-It was gonna be my first time staying alone while Dad took Dean on a hunt," Sam explained. "He told me to get some money out of his wallet for food. A picture fell out. You were holding me and Dean was leaning over your shoulder. I'd always pictured you with brown hair, like us, so I asked who you were."

Mary felt something inside her chest shatter, and she struggled to breathe around it. She wanted to ask about John's response. Wanted to demand answers from John and Dean and God Himself as to how this could happen.

But Sam's hands were shaking around the peeler. And Dean looked ready to crawl inside the oven. Her need to comfort and console outweighed her desire for answers.

"Well, guess what?" she said, forcing her voice to stay steady and light. Sam peeked nervously at her through his bangs. "I'm here now, and you can ask me anything your heart desires. Anything at all. No matter how silly or weird."

"Really?" There was so much hope in that tiny voice. Too much for so small a promise.

"Night or day. If you have a question, you ask it." She ran her fingers through his hair, needing to touch him. To reassure herself that he was right there in front of her. "You and I still have a lot to learn about each other. For instance, I don't know your favorite ice cream flavor."

A smile ghosted across his lips. "Mint chocolate."

"No!" Mary gasped. "That's _my_ favorite." Tears filled her eyes even as she grinned. All she wanted was to have something in common with her youngest that wasn't linked to death or demon deals—even if it was ice cream.

"Yeah," Sam laughed. "Dean says it's like eating toothpaste, but I like it."

Dean cleared his throat. "Because it is. You're both weirdos."

"I'm okay with that," Mary said with a grin. She ruffled his hair once more, then took his bowl of potatoes back to the counter. There was another boy she needed to check on.

Dean tried to take the bowl from her, but she set it out of his reach. His eyes were red, but there were no sign of tears. He had too much practice hiding them.

"I'm a weirdo, huh?"

"Yup." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, what's your favorite flavor, Mr. Normal?" she asked, taking advantage of his exposed side to dig her fingers into his armpit. It had been his most ticklish spot as a little boy. And still was, if the high-pitched squeal he gave was any indication. "What could possibly be better than cool mint with chunks of chocolate?"

"Anything!" Dean backed into the counter and ended up trapped.

"Anything? Really?" Mary let sarcasm infuse her voice as she reached for his other side, surprising another squeak out of him.

"Fine! Butter pecan!" he laughed, batting at her hands.

"Is that your final answer?" She wriggled her fingers threateningly at him.

"Yes! Yes! Butter pecan, final answer."

Mary sighed. "I guess that'll do." She tugged him forward into a hug, whispering, "I love you. You know that?"

"Not sure why sometimes," he said under his breath.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you've got me around now," she squeezed him tighter, "so I can explain it to you in detail every single day until you understand."

Dean looked torn between horror and delight.

Mary kissed his cheek. "Now, you better get that turkey cooking, or dinner will be late. You haven't even started your pies."

That got Dean moving.

Mary grabbed a new bowl for Sam to fill with the remaining potatoes and returned to the table. No one said anything for a while after that. The music filled the silence, accompanied by the sound of chopping, peeling, and stirring. Mary tore up the bread, wishing it was John's face.

"Hey, Mom?" Sam's voice cut through her violent thoughts after several minutes.

"Yes, baby?" she responded, unable to keep herself from using the affectionate term. It was worth it to see the light flush of pleasure across her son's cheeks.

"Um, why are we all wearing pajamas?"

"Oh." She'd forgotten all about that now. Her last Thanksgiving had been spent wearing new sleepwear to compensate for her growing belly. She'd been almost four months pregnant, and full of hope. "Well, your Dad and I didn't have a lot of family traditions to carry on, so we made our own."

"Really?" Sam looked at her with bright eyes, hungry for any scrap of history. "Like what?"

"Like pajama dress-codes for all holidays. We'd watch 'White Christmas' on Christmas Eve, and pick one present for each of us to open. And instead of 'Auld Lang Syne' we'd listen to 'Another One Bites the Dust' by Queen."

"Oh my God," Dean laughed.

"Yeah," she winced, "probably not the best choice in hindsight."

"What else?" Sam asked eagerly.

Mary settled into her chair, and told him stories of his own family. The family he never knew. The father and brother and mother he never knew.

Handmade ornaments made each year for the tree. How John always made his out of scrap car parts, welded with care in the garage. How she'd planned on making molds of Sammy's handprints and letting him paint them for his first ornament.

Stories turned to other holidays. Fourth of July was for camping in remote areas, away from the fireworks that set off John's memories of war. Valentine's Day had a strict rule of "no flowers or candy or cards," and instead was spent slow-dancing in the living room. They planted something new in the yard every Easter—a tree one year, a rosebush the next.

"We tried to think of little things we could do together. Things that didn't cost a lot of money, and would mean something to us." She wondered if the tree and rosebush had survived the fire.

It took her a moment to realize the sounds of food preparation had ceased. Sam's eyes were enormous, barely blinking or breathing as he listened. Dean's face rested on his palm as he leaned forward, his elbows on the counter.

"Keep going, you two!" she said with a laugh, pleased with their reactions. "We're never going to finish at this rate."

Mary stood, bringing her bowl of bread chunks over to the counter.

"I can't believe Dad made ornaments for a Christmas tree," Sam said, shaking his head.

"I actually had to reinforce the 'one ornament per year' limit on him. Every single year, he'd come home with several. I made him pick one, and he gave the others away as presents." She remembered the horribly misshapen lumps of metal from their first year together. "He'd already started working on them for Christmas before the fire. He wanted to make two—one for each of his boys."

"Are we going to make ornaments this year?" Sam asked.

"Of course! Why wouldn't we?" Mary stole the celery from Dean's side of the island and began chopping it into tiny pieces.

"I don't know. We've never done Christmas in the bunker. Or anywhere, really." Sam shrugged. "I don't know much about decorating a tree."

"Yeah, last time you did it, you covered it in air fresheners. Pine tree air fresheners," Dean laughed. "You decorated a tree with tiny trees."

"Well, excuse me! If I remember correctly, your preferred method was stealing a decorated tree."

"One time, Sam. One time." Dean threw a chunk of celery at the boy. It bounced off Sam's shoulder and landed in the floor. Morpheus raised his head and ate it, just like he'd done with each potato peel that went astray.

"No one is stealing a tree this year," Mary reassured. "I'm sure between myself and the angels, we can handle getting a tree of our own and decorating it."

"I may have to add an air freshener, just for old time's sake," Dean whispered loudly.

Mary sighed, but nodded. She couldn't imagine her boys, _these_ boys, never decorating a tree. Dean was almost forty! How did that happen?

"So, I know holidays weren't the greatest," she began tentatively, "but did you have any traditions you'd like to incorporate? Or something you did one year that you liked but didn't get to do again?"

Her question was met with a stretch of silence. Dean finished preparing the turkey and set it to cook in the device he'd bought the week before. Without a word, he got the pie dough from the fridge and began rolling the first one out. Sam just stared at the potato in his hand, lost in thought.

"I think," Dean started slowly, "that the only 'good' holidays we had were spent with other families."

Sam made a noise and his hand slipped with the peeler, catching his thumb instead of the potato. Mary dropped everything, and looked for a towel. But Dean was already around the counter and looking at the damage.

"That wasn't…I wasn't calling you out, you idiot," he said gently. "Mom, can you go get one of the angels? This isn't deep, but it'll hurt to hold anything if we just clean and wrap it."

Mary knew they could just pray to the angels and they'd be there instantly. But Dean's eyes were desperate, and she understood he needed a minute with his brother. She nodded and left, longing for the day when they could have a conversation without pain.

 _God, can't I give them just one fucking day where they don't have to worry? Can't You?_ she prayed angrily. _I know healing isn't easy, but we aren't exactly dealing with a scraped knee here._

The day already had too many highs and lows for her to count, and every moment seemed fraught with emotional disaster. It was like navigating a minefield. She paused outside the library, wiping the moisture from her face. Once semi-presentable, Mary turned the corner and walked through the entrance—and froze, panic twisting her stomach.

The room was a disaster. Mismatched decorations seemed to have exploded along the walls, ceiling, and bookshelves. The tables were pushed to the sides with chairs haphazardly piled on top. The angels stood at ground zero, arguing loudly. And everything was covered in glitter.

"What the actual Hell?" she asked slowly.

All three angels instantly stopped fighting and turned to her. Gabriel had Christmas lights wrapped around his arms, all lit even though they weren't plugged into anything. Raphael wielded a branch of holly like a sword. And Castiel looked like he'd taken the brunt of a glitter bomb—the air shimmered around him when he turned toward her, causing a cloud of the stuff to fly off him.

"I can explain!" Gabriel said. The multicolor lights all started blinking.

"There is no explanation for your lack of taste!" Raphael said, poking Gabriel with the branch.

Castiel sighed, blowing more glitter off his face. "I believe they are having 'artistic differences' over how to decorate." Bursts of color bloomed around the air quotes, like tiny fireworks.

"Well, work them out and get this cleaned up! We can't eat if the tables are covered in chairs and glitter. It doesn't have to be perfect—just nice!"

"Is everything alright? Did you need us for something?" Raphael asked, concern coloring his voice.

"Actually, Sam cut himself on a potato peeler," was all she managed to say before all three angels began moving toward the doorway. "Wait! No one leaves this room until the glitter is gone. You'll leave a trail through the bunker, and Dean will stab everyone if a single speck touches the food."

"Why didn't you pray?" Gabriel asked, snapping away the mess. The tables returned to their normal positions with the decorations neatly stacked in the center.

"Because he wanted the chance to talk to Sam without me there," Mary huffed.

Understanding lit in the archangel's eyes. "Are they having a tough time with all of this?"

"Aren't we all?" she countered, then scrubbed at her face before more tears could form. "They know nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , about who we were as a family before I died. And every time I tell them something new, it's like I'm entering a minefield. I can see how much it hurts them to hear about the John I remember. But they keep asking for more—especially Sam."

"What happened?" Raphael asked.

Mary gave him a brief run down of the conversation that led to Sam slicing his hand. She saw Castiel wince. "What?" she asked the seraph. "What do you know?"

Castiel sighed, and told her about her sons' experience in Heaven during the Apocalypse. "Dean was quite angry to find Sam in a memory of spending Thanksgiving with strangers. He did not understand that Zachariah was controlling their Heaven—emphasizing Dean's love of family and Sam's desire for normalcy. Dean resented Sam for a long time. I do not know if they ever discussed it afterwards."

"I'd say not, if their reactions were anything to go by," Mary said. "Do you think they've had enough time to talk it over? I don't want to barge back in, but I couldn't see how bad the cut was either."

"I'll go," Castiel said, surprising her by taking charge. "I am capable of healing a simple cut. And I have first-hand knowledge of the issue they are discussing. It may be less awkward. Meanwhile, please give these two guidance on how you wish the room to be arranged. I fear we will be eating in the kitchen otherwise."

He sent a quick glare to his older brothers before leaving the room. It would have been more impressive if he hadn't been wearing a robe and slippers. At least the robe still twirled the same as the trench coat.

"Alright, you two," Mary said with her hands on her hips. "Let's discuss these artistic differences and get this done."

Both archangels turned, stopping her tirade with concerned looks. Raphael pressed a warm palm to her cheek and tutted. "Decorating can wait."

"What's wrong, Mary?" Gabriel asked, gently taking her hand.

"What _isn't_ wrong?" Mary let out a laugh that turned into a sob. She managed to tell them of Sam's confession and Dean's reaction. "It's so much worse than anything I imagined," she cried into Raphael's tunic. "And I've imagined _awful_ things! How do I fix this? How do I even start?"

"By doing exactly what you did," Gabriel answered. "You're filling in the blank spaces—both past and present. You're giving him the history he never knew, and being the parent he still needs today."

Raphael rubbed her back. "Their wounds are deep and old, and some must be reopened before they can heal properly. The fact that they feel safe enough to voice these things to you is a miracle. Both of your sons have come so far in a short period of time—and your presence is a heavy factor in their progress."

"God, how do you always know what to say? You're like a poet," Mary sniffed and stepped back to wipe her face.

"Hey! I thought I was supposed to be the Messenger with fancy words, bro. Quit stealing my best lines," Gabriel teased.

"Then perhaps you should not keep changing the simple messages entrusted to you," Raphael said with a raised brow.

"You're no fun." Gabriel pushed Raphael out of his way and studied Mary's face. "Let's clean you up, okay mama? Can't go back in there with a blotchy face."

He held her face and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. Mary's skin tingled as cool, refreshing energy swept over her. The itchiness disappeared, and her eyes no longer felt swollen. She could even breathe freely.

"There. Much better, if I do say so myself."

"Thanks," Mary said, feeling lighter. "But don't think that this gets you out of fixing this room!"

Twenty minutes later, Mary returned to the kitchen. The archangels had reached a compromise between traditional and modern decorating methods, and she was washing her hands of it. Maybe the boys had the right idea in decorating with air fresheners.

The sight that greeted her in the kitchen melted away any lingering frustration or sadness. Dean had moved Sam onto the counter next to him and they were working on the apple pies together. They grinned at her from flour-covered faces and she was powerless to do anything but feel joy.

"All better?" she asked.

"Yes, Cas healed the _tiny cut_ and I am no longer in danger of 'bleeding out into our food.'" Sam gave his brother an exasperated look. "Even though it quit bleeding before Cas even got here."

"Hey, safety first!" Dean said.

"Do you require any assistance with the food?" Castiel asked. Mary hadn't even seen him kneeling in the floor next to Morpheus. "Or should I return to the library?" His eyes held a spark of fear—or a piece of leftover glitter.

"I think we can put you to better use in here." Mary waved him toward her. "I'm trusting you can handle cutting up sweet potatoes."

"Yes," he said in relief.

"Why? What happened in the library?" Dean's eyes swept Castiel from head to toe as though searching for signs of injury. "Did those two do something?"

"Artistic differences escalated into decorative warfare," Castiel answered.

"What does that even mean?" Dean asked.

"It means that Raphael insisted on a traditional setting while Gabriel wanted something more," Castiel shuddered, " _festive._ "

"Oh God," Sam tried to muffle a laugh, "that sounds horrifying."

Castiel nodded gravely. "It was."

"Well, you're safe with us, buddy" Dean assured, patting the angel's shoulder.

Sam snickered. Mary tried to give him her sternest mom-look of warning. But it backfired, sending Sam into louder laughter.

"What is wrong with you?" Dean looked at his brother, completely flabbergasted by the boy's giggles. "Did I miss something?"

"No, no, everything's cool. _Buddy._ " Sam sobered himself suspiciously fast. "He's safer with you, and you're safer with him. We're all safer, in fact. Safety in numbers."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?"

"I wish," Sam said wistfully.

"That is not advisable," Castiel said. "It requires a massive amount of alcohol for an angel to become intoxicated and we do not know how it would affect one such as yourself."

"It was a joke, Cas." Sam tossed a piece of apple at the angel. "Besides, I don't think I could physically drink a liquor store like _some_ angels."

Castiel caught it easily, and returned it to the bowl.

"Don't you start with your brother," Mary whispered in Sam's ear, "I just stopped two other brothers from destroying the bunker. I'm not doing it again in the kitchen."

"Okay, seriously, what's going on?" Dean demanded.

"I believe it concerns our sleeping arrangements last night," Castiel said.

"What?!" Dean flushed. "How…I don't…"

"It's okay, Dean." Sam's voice held no traces of teasing. "Really. I'm happy for you, okay?"

"Happy for what?" Dean asked, trying to sound confused. But it came out panicked.

Mary regretted saying anything to anyone that morning. She had no idea what Sam and Dean's stances were on sexuality. It hadn't been a topic of conversation. Her own generation had been either violently opposed to gays or extremely accepting—the hippie movement had tackled more than just the Vietnam War and the music industry. And while she knew this modern era had advanced with things like gay marriage, it still wasn't accepted by everyone.

Sam scooted forward on the counter, maneuvering to sit in front of his brother. "Calm down, idiot. I'm happy that the two people I've loved the most in this world are maybe going to stop dancing around each other and me."

"Sammy, nothing happened!" Dean's voice cracked.

"Nothing _has_ to 'happen.' I'm just happy that you let him stay with you last night," Sam sighed and pushed his hair back from his face. "You have no idea how frustrating it's been these past few years. How many times I watched you let Cas leave here, knowing that you preferred he stay. How many times you two pushed one another away in the name of keeping each other safe. How many times I wished you'd both just suck it up and admit that you'd rather be by each other's side than apart!"

Castiel frowned. "I did not know you felt that way, Sam."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't going to say anything. It wasn't my place. But I preferred having you here too." Sam gave the seraph a half-smile. "Safety in numbers, right?"

"Dude, you should have said something," Dean muttered.

"Yeah, right. You can barely look at me right now, and Cas isn't even in danger of leaving!" Sam scoffed, then a flash of worry crossed his face and he turned to Castiel. "Right?"

Castiel's face softened at the sight of Sam's distress. "I promise I am not leaving."

"I'm just glad you have a reason to stay." Sam's shoulders sagged in relief. "Beyond the fact that you have to protect the new…kid, or whatever. You deserve to have your own reason."

Mary moved to the side, and took over Castiel's work on the sweet potatoes. Dean resumed rolling out the dough and patting them into pie pans, but his attention stayed riveted on the two. He offered no illusion of privacy—Dean was part of this conversation.

"Sam, I do not stay simply because you need protection. And I have seen you as a brother since before you became a literal sibling. I would have stayed even if Chuck had not changed you." He took Sam's hand, inspecting the place he'd healed. "But our lives would not be the same. We would all three be hunting Lucifer. All four, if we included your mother. And we may not have Gabriel and the others back either, which means Heaven would still be weak and scattered."

"Making me an angel didn't fix Heaven, Cas," Sam looked embarrassed at the very thought. "And I just meant that it was good…"

"That I have a reason to stay?" Castiel raised a brow. "Do you think our lives would have slowed down enough for us to realize that reason if we were hunting right now? The fact that we are dedicating an entire day to food and relaxation instead of preparing weapons means that we all have the chance now—to decide what we want instead of disasters dictating our every move."

"And you want this," Sam asked carefully, "here, with Dean? And me, and mom?"

"My family is here. I will not return to Heaven, even if Michael demanded it." Castiel's firm tone gave no room for disbelief.

Sam looked at Dean. They stared at each other, exchanging silent words not even Castiel could understand. But the angel was used to it, and patiently waited till they finished. Finally, Dean nodded and Sam smiled at Castiel.

The boy pushed the seraph's hands away. "Fine. Fine! Go help with food before Mom reassigns you to decorations."

Castiel leaned down, and said something to Sam in Enochian. Mary didn't understand the words, but they turned Sam's face pink. Then, Castiel spoke again and Sam tried kicking the angel away with his feet.

"No!" Sam yelled, and Mary dropped her knife in surprise. "No, I do not need details! Go away!"

Castiel smirked and returned to the sweet potatoes. He picked up Mary's knife, still grinning at her startled expression. "I believe I can take it from here."

"Right," she said, still dazed by the whole exchange. _I gotta learn Enochian._

* * *

Dinner was a masterpiece. Mary sat at the table, exhausted and full of food and cheer. She couldn't remember being more content.

The turkey and ham had been perfect. Platters of green bean casserole, sweet potatoes with marshmallows and brown sugar, mashed potatoes covered with caramelized onions, stuffing, and homemade rolls covered the center of the table alongside white and red taper candles. But the real winners of the night were the pies—apple, pumpkin, and pecan.

Gabriel and Raphael were engaged in a heated debate over what kind of evergreen tree to use for Christmas. Folklore seemed to be as much a part of the discussion as the scent and texture of each species. Listening to them bicker like normal brothers made it easy to forget they were actually big-bad archangels.

Dean kept pushing more pie on Castiel. He insisted the angel taste every available combination of pie, ice cream, whipped cream, caramel, and whatever else he could mix them with. Castiel obliged him, carefully tasting each bite.

 _At this rate, we won't have any leftovers,_ Mary thought.

Most precious was the sight to her right. Sam's eyes had grown heavier throughout dessert, but he'd fought valiantly. Now, his head rested against her side, one hand curled around Morpheus' small form in his lap.

Mary heard a "click" and looked up to find Dean taking their picture with his phone. He turned the phone sideways and took three more, then grinned. "Man, I've never had so much material to blackmail him with before. I'm gonna be set for life if he keeps this up!"

"Keeps what up?" Castiel asked quietly.

"Cute shit," Dean said, snapping another picture—this time of Castiel. Then, he turned and got the archangels too.

He'd been taking pictures throughout the evening, declaring himself their official photographer. Mary wondered if he'd like an actual camera. She added it to the growing list—right under "house shoes that are not combat boots." It was good to know that, between the archangels and the credit card scams her sons thought she knew nothing about, money wasn't an issue.

"Should we put him in his bed? Or…?" Gabriel looked at them, hopeful someone would pick the "or" option.

"Or the 'nest' you made?" she asked, only slightly teasing.

Castiel had let the term slip one day in the kitchen. Once Dean had quit laughing, he'd explained that angels tended to create nests in Heaven—a space carved out for their flock to rest away from the main flock. Technically, the communal bedroom would be considered a nest-within-a-nest, with the entire bunker being considered their flock's space.

Gabriel startled at her words. "You…you…"

"…have learned quite a bit about angels recently, thank you very much," Mary finished for him. She looked to Dean, silently asking his opinion. His grin softened as his eyes shifted to the lightly snoring boy beside her, and he nodded.

"Yeah. He shouldn't wake up alone in the morning."

Mary relaxed. She didn't want to wake up alone either. "Do you want to get him settled while we clean this up?" There was no way she could pick him up without waking him—not at the angle they were sitting.

Gabriel snapped, and the food all disappeared. The table was spotless, but still decorated. "There," he said smugly, "no more work today."

Dean expertly scooped Sam and Morpheus out of their chair and carried them to the bedroom. Mary followed with the angels close behind. Her feet and back ached from all the cooking they'd done, but it was a good ache.

She felt like weeping at the sight of 'her' bed—the luxurious twin mattress tucked in the corner of the room right next to the larger bed where the boys slept. It had only been one night, but it felt like an eternity since they'd all been together in here. Mary sank into the softness, unable to stop the groan as her muscles relaxed.

"You sure you don't want your own room?" Gabriel teased.

"I'm not moving and you can't make me," Mary sighed, stretching out on top of the covers. "I ate too much and everything hurts, and I think this has been the best day ever."

"Are you in pain?" Raphael asked, coming over to sit on the side of her bed. He raised two fingers to her forehead. "May I?"

"Yes, please!" She knew how stiff all her joints would be by morning. "But I'm still not moving. Even if you zapped me with enough energy to run a marathon."

Raphael chuckled, and brushed his fingertips across her brow. Warmth flowed through her, like sinking into a hot bath. It eased her joints and muscles, making her feel heavy and boneless. "There is no need for running—only sleep."

Sleep called to her, pulling at the edges of consciousness, and she almost allowed it. But something else remained before she could go. Reaching up, Mary clasped Raphael's hand before he moved away.

"Thank you, Raphael. You're such a kind and gentle soul. Or angel. You've healed more than just our physical wounds."

Raphael looked surprised. "You do not need to thank me, Mary. I do it gladly."

"But it's Thanksgiving. You're supposed to say what makes you thankful." She looked at Gabriel where he'd flopped on the couch by the foot of her bed. "Thank you, Gabriel, for always saying what we _need_ to hear, and not just the words we want. Even if you change the messages around on occasion."

Gabriel blushed fiercely and scooted down on the couch. For once, he was at a loss for words. Mary took that as a compliment.

"And Castiel—I have so much to thank you for, I don't know where to start." He opened his mouth, an objection clearly on his tongue, so she pushed forward without letting him interrupt. "So, I'll just say thank you for loving my boys. And being there when they had no one else in this world."

Castiel's lips tightened, but he said nothing. After a second, he simply nodded and bent down to kiss her forehead. Dean's hand appeared on his shoulder, pulling him back gently.

"Alright, you. It's my turn," Dean said. Mary grinned, ready to tell him all the ways he made her thankful. But he cut her off. "Nope, I said it's my turn and I don't normally do this shit, so shush." He knelt by her bed, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, mom, for giving us the best Thanksgiving we've _never_ dreamed of having. And for being amazing. Not everyone would come back from the dead and take up mothering two virtual strangers, even if they were her kids. But you did, and I want you to know that it means the world—to me and Sammy."

"Dean…" Mary felt pure joy rise up, threatening to drown her.

"Nope, chick flick over!" Dean gave her a quick peck on the cheek and stood up, his knees popping.

Raphael stood waiting with his fingers raised. It was a testament to both Dean's newfound trust in the angels and his degree of exhaustion that he only considered the offer for a few seconds before nodding. Mary watched as the effect washed over him, and all his muscles relaxed at once.

"Thanks, Doc," he muttered, patting the archangel's shoulder as he stumbled toward the bed.

Castiel was already laying down in his usual place. Mary could barely see Sam curled around Morpheus in the middle. It took Dean only a moment to get under the covers, and then he was asleep.

One of the angels silently turned off the lights, and that was all it took for Mary to follow.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
** Here, ya heathens-take it! Almost 10k of holiday angst and cheer!  
This chapter almost killed me. I rewrote it about three times in a week.  
Also, you can direct all weeping flames toward ScrollingKingfisher, who told me there needed to be "more inner turmoil" for Mary in one section, which led to about 5 extra pages of pure angst.

AND  
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NATHYFAITH  
I LOVE YOU GIRL!

Come be my friend on tumblr: theriverscribe AND/OR spn-bythegraceofgod


	36. Teach Your Children pt7

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN** **  
PART 7: And So, Please Help Them With Your Youth**

 **WARNING: mentions past child abuse (no details)**

* * *

 _I wish this could last forever,_ Sam thought when he woke the next morning. He'd curled toward Castiel at some point in the night. The seraph's grace glowed with contentment like a beacon of peace. The effect was so strong it left no room for embarrassment when Sam realized how close they were.

That serenity echoed from the other sleepy souls and grace in the room. But Sam knew it was too good to last—not with a Winchester's luck. And he was right.

The calm shattered by breakfast. Gabriel casually announced they would begin flying lessons the following week—with the assistance of the angel guard. His words were met with silence until Dean exploded.

Sam watched, speechless, as Dean bluntly voiced all his worst fears.

"What if they decide Sam's a threat and they smite him? Or they get sick of perching in our treetops and smite us all so they can go home? And why does Sammy need to learn flying now anyway? That seems a bit more advanced than the shit he's done so far! I mean, he almost blew up the bunker making a little ball of light _this week!_ "

The intense questioning and debate lasted over two hours. Gabriel reassured Dean that Sam would be completely safe the entire time—both with flying and the angel strangers. Mary and Castiel occasionally raised their own concerns, but it was hard for anyone else to get a word in around Dean. But the issue was still brought up daily until Sam couldn't take it anymore.

By Sunday, he locked himself and Morpheus away in the quiet seclusion of his old room, only coming out for meals and scheduled grace-work. The stack of books by his bedside multiplied with each passing day. His grasp of Enochian grammar and vocabulary also expanded. _No angel will take me seriously if I sound like a baby._

By Tuesday, Sam was sleeping less than four hours. Nightmares broke up those hours into smaller segments. _Angels aren't supposed to sleep anyway,_ he told himself in Wednesday's pre-dawn hours.

He passed restless nights devouring Raphael's books from Heaven. The books began as a means of avoidance—a habit he'd picked up long before Stanford. The fact that his brain now absorbed information at an unprecedented rate didn't hurt.

Perfect recall meant Sam only had to read something once, but it didn't guarantee understanding. He kept a notebook full of questions. Sam went over them with Raphael whenever tensions in the bunker rose.

By Thursday, he'd finished four books and started a second notebook. Dark smudges became permanent features on his fingertips and under his eyes. The others tried to hide their stares over breakfast, but the lack of conversations made their glances even more obvious.

Sam didn't care. He didn't have the energy to care. There was barely enough energy for his usual morning run.

 _This is getting ridiculous, pup._ Morpheus' voice held the edge of a growl. The canine trotted along the footpath, remaining close to keep Sam from stumbling. It was a full-time job in his current state.

"Running isn't ridiculous," Sam mumbled, breathing hard.

 _Gabriel said he'd make you wear a helmet if he has to heal another head injury from a fall._

Sam ran faster without answering. Nervous energy thrummed through his body. It had left him dizzy and short of breath before he'd gone running. Now, it fueled his steps.

If only he could run fast enough to escape the approaching afternoon. They were all supposed to be introduced to the unknown angels guarding the bunker. And then fly around the yard, or something. Sam hadn't paid much attention past the "meet other angels" portion of the announcement.

 _Pup! Stop, Sam!_ Morpheus' warning barely registered over Sam's own thoughts. But the canine's teeth snatched the bottom hem of his jacket from behind, abruptly ending their run.

"What the hell!?" Sam snapped as he landed hard on the ground.

Morpheus planted himself in front of Sam, his steely blue eyes holding a rare level of seriousness. _You are not paying attention,_ he scolded.

Sam glowered back. "I'm _running!_ You don't just knock me on my ass because I'm not listening!"

 _I didn't stop you because you weren't listening,_ Morpheus huffed. _You are not paying attention to your route. Where are you going?_

Sam looked around—they weren't on the path. Panicked, he scanned the woods for anything familiar. It took him a moment to spot the cleared path several yards back. He'd failed to take the turn that looped back toward the bunker, and continued his sprint into the woods.

"I-I've never done that before," Sam said, still stunned. His chest hurt from forcing cold air through tight lungs. It made his face burn and sinuses drain.

Morpheus shoved his face closer, and Sam made himself stay still. Bracing for a staring contest he'd never win, the feel of fur against his forehead was unexpected. The canine pressed a cheek to Sam's skin, like a mother's hand checking a temperature.

Sam tolerated it, knowing he couldn't evade his guardian's fussing. But it didn't stop a mumbled, "I'm not sick."

 _You are freezing and drenched in sweat._ With practiced ease, he gently grasped the hood between teeth and pulled it over Sam's hair. _And I am not ignorant to how little sleep you're getting._

Sam winced. He'd hoped the canine wouldn't notice. "It's just been the last night or two."

Blue eyes narrowed.

"Or three," Sam amended. Cold from the ground seeped into his legs and made them ache. He needed to get up before they cramped.

As though sensing his intent, Morpheus laid down next to Sam without warning. _No more running for today. Up, pup. You need to rest before this afternoon._

They were only halfway through their usual morning routine. Sam stared at the soft inviting fur, torn between finishing his run and longing to be warm. The decision was made for him.

 _Up. Or I will tell Gabriel to postpone his plans because you're too tired._

"That's blackmail," Sam grumbled. Part of him wished they could postpone—by about ten years or so. But this was important, and the archangels were excited.

A hard, cold shiver made him resign to his fate and move. It took the last of his energy to climb the canine, but he eventually got situated. Heat pricked the skin of his legs painfully. Sam rubbed his hands over his jeans to get rid of the sensation.

 _Lay forward. You need to warm up._

"I'm fine." A bushy tail smacked the back of Sam's head before he finished speaking. It knocked him face-first into fur. "Hey!"

Morpheus stood and started moving. Sam dug his hands and knees into the canine's back to keep his balance.

 _Be still,_ Morpheus said, but it was an unnecessary order. Sam's muscles felt heavy with heat and fatigue—there was no way he'd remain seated if he tried to shift upright again.

"You're grumpy." Sam frowned, hated hearing the petulance in his own voice.

There was a quiet pause. _I am frustrated,_ Morpheus replied quietly, _because my charge does not sleep through the night._

"Sorry." Sam stared at the passing trees, guilt twisting in his stomach. "I don't know what's…"

 _And he does not turn to me or others for assistance. He insists on staying awake and reading without even trying to return to sleep. I don't think he understands that, as his guardian, I wake with him. I wake, and I wait for him to talk to me, and I watch as he sits in silence._

"Morpheus, I didn't realize…"

 _And when I try to express my concerns, he tells me he's fine. He is more upset about my loss of sleep than his own._ Morpheus twists his head around, pinning Sam with his gaze. _And he called me "grumpy."_

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry," he said again.

 _He apologizes because he feels responsible, but does nothing to change the situation._

"Please stop talking about me in third person." It felt like he was listening in on a conversation without participating. Then, he considered the uncomfortable truth of Morpheus' words. He and Dean often apologized as a means of ending an argument—conceding without actual closure or resolution. "How do I change the situation?"

 _Talk to me._

"About what?"

 _Tell me about the dreams that wake you up and drive you to do everything possible to prevent yourself returning to them._

Sam hated dreaming. Too often, his brain took memories and twisted them. Faces and events became repainted with brighter colors and darker fears. Nightmares had plagued him since early childhood, but they'd grown far more intense now that he had grace.

Dreams of John had become a nightly event for the past two weeks—since Raphael's first visit to Heaven.

Some were pleasant memories of moments long-forgotten. A rare day spent in a park, playing frisbee with the sound of his dad's laugh echoing through the trees. A night they got snowed in at a motel and John read them stories as they laid curled up under a pile of blankets. He'd wake up feeling desperate and emotional, wishing he could remain in the dream a moment longer.

But they were overshadowed by nightmares. Events that had not simply faded from his memory due to time, but that he'd intentionally boxed up and shoved into dark corners. And now, those boxes were all open, spilling out without rhyme or reason.

Last night had opened a particularly bad box—his father's reaction to Sam's first time running away. " _You want to run so bad? Well, you better start now—five miles, every morning for the next month. Run away again, and you won't be able to walk for a week."_ John had followed him each morning for three days, a belt clutched in his hand as a silent reminder.

Sam buried his face between Morpheus' shoulder blades. "I don't…I can't talk about them," he finally said.

Mary had been in a pre-Christmas frenzy all week. Each nightmare seemed like a betrayal of the stories she shared of a father he'd never known. A stranger who welded ornaments and slow-danced in the living room and accidentally melted a grill the first time he made steak.

 _Can't? Or won't?_

The thought of describing the dreams out-loud made Sam's throat tighten. "Can't," he croaked. "Not yet." _Not ever._

Morpheus sighed noisily, but nodded. _How do you feel about the plan for this afternoon?_

Sam weighed his options. Meeting new angels was pretty high on his list of Things That Seem Like Bad Ideas. It brought up an entirely different set of baggage that began the moment Castiel first took his hand and called him "the boy with the demon blood." On the other hand, it was still an easier subject to tackle than his father.

"I don't have the best history with angels," Sam said.

 _From what I know of your past, I believe that is a vast understatement._

Sam closed his eyes. The rhythmic movement of Morpheus' steps helped him relax. Being small again may make him vulnerable, but it also gave him moments where he could bask in the safety provided by someone much larger.

"Angels hated me before I even knew they existed." Sam crossed his ankles over Morpheus' lower back and used his arms as a pillow. "They saw me as an abomination. But they really just confirmed what I'd already known for years—that something was wrong with me. I felt dirty as a kid."

 _Because of the demon blood?_

"I guess. Yeah, it was just something I felt. Anyway," Sam cleared his throat and tried to stay focused, "it took a long time for Cas to see me as more than just Lucifer's intended vessel. But until now, I didn't have any other angel allies. Gabriel might have eventually joined Team Free Will, but he died saving us before that could happen." He gave a humorless laugh. "Most angels end up dead around us. Dean has a collection of angel blades."

 _You believe the angels protecting the bunker are untrustworthy?_

"No! I…I don't know." He tried to shrug, but his muscles wouldn't obey. "Gabe and Raphael trust them. Cas hasn't said anything, but he's got his own issues with other angels. They don't like him either."

 _What is your worst-case scenario for today?_ Morpheus asked plainly, like they were reviewing battle strategies. It uncoiled some of Sam's tension just to know he was being taken seriously.

"Worst case? They decide their earlier opinions of me were correct and they nuke the bunker." They'd probably lure the archangels away on orders from Michael beforehand. But eradicating the Winchesters and Castiel would be pathetically easy for a small group of seraphs set on their destruction. Dean had seen them go after Amara—they would not survive such an attack.

Morpheus stopped walking. _Your worst-case scenario involves all of our deaths—yet you have not raised a single concern all week?_

"Who needs to raise concerns when Dean's been screaming them on an hourly basis? Besides, they wouldn't dare a full-out assault with Gabriel and Raphael around. I'll sound the alarm if they suddenly disappear together." _And keep studying every book I can get my hands on,_ Sam thought to himself.

The one that currently laid hidden under his pillow detailed defense strategies—including the theoretical steps to manifesting an angel blade. There was no way Raphael would approve of him reading it, let alone attempting any of the steps. Sam wondered if it had been accidentally added to the pile, but he wasn't going to chance asking and losing access to the book for the next few centuries.

A snort from Morpheus drew Sam out of his thoughts. They started moving again. _What is your next worst-case scenario? One that does not end in our deaths._

Sam considered his answer. He had worried obsessively over so many scenarios—none of which ended well. "Umm, if we're taking 'certain death' off the table, then I'm not sure. It's kinda a toss-up between open hostility and cold indifference."

 _Hmm,_ Morpheus mused. _That is understandable. Hostility, while hard to accept, is at least honest. Indifference can hide too many things._

"Yeah," Sam whispered.

 _What is your best-case scenario, then?_

"What?"

 _What would be your perfect outcome to this meeting?_

Sam had not spared a single thought for a best-case scenario. There was no "perfect outcome." There was death and not-death.

"I guess…I learn how to fly quickly and they aren't forced to assist in other future lessons?"

 _Have you considered the possibility that these angels may like you? That you may end up being friends? From what I understand of angels, they take their "protective sibling" role very seriously._

"Nope—never really crossed my mind." He yawned, then coughed when he accidentally got a mouthful of fur. Blinding sunlight made him blink until his eyes could focus. "Morpheus, are we," he blinked again, "walking in circles around the yard?"

 _Yes._ The canine's steps never slowed.

"Why?"

 _I would walk in circles around this country if it keeps you speaking._

Sam swallowed the urge to argue, and insist that he'd _been_ speaking. But that wasn't true. His mind had gone into overdrive about thirty seconds after breakfast a week ago, and it hadn't slowed down. Every time Dean rehashed the issue, it rewrote Sam's worst-case scenario.

He hadn't lied—death and destruction definitely sat at the top of his list. But there were dozens of lesser, just as devastating, paths this could go. Most of them ended with the archangels leaving.

Sam had to think long-term. It might take ten or twenty years, but he knew he wouldn't remain the center of Gabriel and Raphael's attentions forever. Heaven would eventually call on them or the archangels would grow restless on Earth.

He just hoped he appeared old enough to make it alone by the time it happened.

 _You know that was supposed to encourage you to keep speaking, right?_

Sam shook his head and smiled. "Sorry."

 _Would you like to talk with Raphael about your concerns before the meeting? He seems like the least likely to attract dramatics if we can get him alone._

"God, no!" Sam almost shouted. Gabriel might be dramatic, but Raphael was tenacious. The Healer would easily read between Sam's words, and be persistent enough to get a full confession of his fears. And there was no way to phrase his worries in a way that didn't make him sound like a scared child. "No, thank you. I'm just tired and overthinking everything, as usual. Dean and I were trained to prepare for the worst long before we knew how to read. It's an old habit—not likely to break anytime soon."

 _Perhaps you would consider resting until the appointed time._ It wasn't a question.

"I don't need a nap."

 _Then I shall continue walking. Lay back down._

"What? No!"

 _Pup, your grace is sensitive and volatile when you are rested and calm. Do you really think "tired and overthinking everything" is a good state to be in when learning to bend time and space?_

Sam groaned in defeat. "Fine. I'll go lay down. But only if you do too, Grumpy."

They returned to the bunker in silence—which meant they heard Dean's raised voice as soon as they walked through the door. The hunter had circled back to the "what if Sam falls from the sky" issue. Gabriel and Castiel were both trying to explain that angels didn't fly like birds, but Dean was too worked up.

By unspoken agreement, Sam and Morpheus passed the kitchen as silently as possible on their way to his room. The canine shifted into his smaller form so Sam could carry him. The click-clack of nails against the bunker floor would be a dead give-away.

Sam shut his door, and sighed in relief. Morpheus shifted again and nudged him toward the bed. It took a minute to kick off his shoes and shed a few layers, but then he was under the covers.

When the bed didn't dip under Morpheus' weight, Sam sat back up. The canine still stood by the door. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

 _I need to talk to Raphael about this afternoon, but I was waiting until you were settled._

"No! I told you I didn't want to talk to him." Sam threw the covers back.

 _Don't you dare set one foot out of that bed, pup!_ Morpheus appeared by his side in a blink. _You do not need to talk to the Healer-Angel. I will not betray your confidence. I have my own concerns, and as your safety is my priority, I need to discuss the plan in greater detail._

Sam stared at him, torn between wishing he'd never said anything and the need for reassurance that this wasn't going to end in disaster. Tensions were high enough in the bunker without adding in his own paranoia. "You sure?"

 _I promise. Now lay down and rest. I will join you as soon as I'm done. And no reading!_

"Grumpy," Sam muttered as he flopped back onto his pillow.

 _I heard that._

Sam pulled the blanket over his head. "Good."

* * *

Raphael sat in the library, mentally reviewing his plans for their afternoon session. It had been several ages since he'd last taught a fledgling to fly. And there were so many new factors he'd never dealt with in the past.

Fledglings were traditionally taught flight in a special section of Heaven created exclusively for training. It had wards that kept the little ones from accidentally flying outside the zone and soft barriers that minimized injuries. Like the Garden, the training grounds held vegetation and bright skies.

Angels called it "The Fields of Gold" for the sunlit grasses that rippled like the sea. It was perfectly designed for its purpose. And utterly useless for Sam.

Raphael sighed, rubbing his temples

Samuel was not ready for Heaven—and Heaven was not ready for Samuel. Setting aside the violent histories between the Winchesters and the Host, Heaven was still in shambles and unsafe for a fledgling who could barely control his grace. And Samuel would not welcome an audience who tried to shower him in attention.

The sound of nails clicking against the floor drew Raphael's attention to the doorway in time to see Morpheus enter. When Samuel did not appear, Raphael sat up straighter. The two were rarely separated for any reason.

"Hello, Morpheus."

 _Hello, Healer._ Morpheus sniffed at the dwindling pile of books on the table, his nose wrinkling. He shook his head, sneezing to the side, and made his way to Raphael's side. _I wanted to talk to you about this afternoon._

"Of course."

 _I have safety concerns._

"About the flying?"

 _About the angels._

"Ah," Raphael nodded. He'd been expecting this all week. "What are your concerns?"

 _What are the chances they will view Sam as a threat?_

"I have discussed Samuel with the guard numerous times, and have not sensed any animosity from them. If I had, I would have removed them from their post."

 _What would you do if they hurt Sam? Or tried to take him away?_ Morpheus' voice was calm and curious.

Raphael leaned back in his chair. He recognized a test when he saw one. But was it from Sam or Morpheus?

"They would have to get through two archangels. They would lose—and they are aware of that fact. Archangels are not the same as seraphs. It is not a simple matter of being stronger. We are older, larger, and faster. Castiel was the first seraph to stand against me, and he only survived the initial encounter due to Winchester-trickery." Raphael warmed at the memory, proud of Castiel's defiance against Heaven's cold corruption—a cold legacy continued by Raphael after Michael and Lucifer's fall into the Cage.

 _And if they tried to take him?_

"The only reason they would remove Samuel from the bunker grounds is if he were in danger. We warded the building against any angel not currently living here—including the guard. The wards can be broken, but it would take serious effort and set off multiple alarms. And there are alarms set to go off if Sam leaves the premises unexpectedly."

 _What if they were under orders?_

Raphael frowned. This was about more than meeting the angel guard. "You mean Michael?"

 _Yes._ Morpheus tilted his head, openly studying the archangel.

"Michael is many things, but deceitful is not one of them." Raphael chose his words carefully. "He has no experience using manipulation and lies—and subtlety is a new concept for him. As a leader, he respects order and brute force. I spent millennia by his side before and during the Apocalypse, when we were the only two archangels in Heaven. I spent another few centuries watching our Father restore him piece-by-piece. I know the guilt he carries in regards to what was done to Samuel. And right now, his goal for Heaven is to make it a home worthy of our newest sibling."

Morpheus nodded slowly, and Raphael felt his curiosity spike. He wasn't sure what assurances the shifter was seeking, but knew this conversation was important. Questions sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them—they would have to wait until he understood the situation better.

 _What do you have planned for this afternoon? Specifically._

Raphael laid out the schedule he'd discussed with Gabriel. After lunch, the flock would go outside. Gabriel would make the introductions, and allow some time for them to mingle. They would go over the basics of flying, and what to expect from the lessons. "The rest, as the humans say, we shall 'play by ear.' There is a good chance we will not get to any actual flying today."

 _That may be best. I expect this meeting will take enough energy as-is. Especially if Dean does not calm down beforehand._

Raphael winced. He could hear Dean and Gabriel debating in the kitchen even now. "Yes. Dean's protectiveness of Samuel has been quite overwhelming this week. I believe his heart is in the right place, but his method of expressing his concerns has caused more harm than good. I can speak to him before we go—without Gabriel's equally volatile presence."

 _Yes, please. I would do it myself, but he would not hear me. And there is only so much I can communicate through gestures and growls._ Morpheus stood and padded toward the door. Apparently, he had the answers he'd needed.

"Morpheus?" Raphael called out. He waited until the shifter turned and looked at him. "Is Samuel okay? He has been very quiet lately. Are these his concerns about today, or your own?"

 _Sam's concerns_ are _my own,_ was all Morpheus said before walking out the door.

 _Well, that was insightful,_ Raphael thought. It told him that Samuel or Morpheus, or both, had serious concerns about trusting the angels. Concerns that far outweighed any fear of flying—which seemed to be Dean's main worry.

With lunch still an hour away, Raphael flew to the guard. He needed to ensure the boy's first meeting with his new siblings went well. It would set the tone for all future introductions.

He found them in an emotional frenzy—a first for the Healer. Seraphs were not known for overt displays of feeling, yet Nuriel seemed near-tears as Zadkiel sat against her side, offering closeness for comfort. Even Sariel, who stood and stared stoically out at the horizon, appeared disturbed—it showed in her restlessly shifting wings.

They watched from above the bunker, just outside the human's physical plane. Hidden from all except those who could access such a place. Low-level demons would not even sense their presence.

" **What has happened?** " Raphael asked, ready to call Gabriel to them. No one answered. He frowned, and opened his mouth to demand answers when Sariel stepped toward him.

" **We do not normally listen to conversations, but we do keep an extra ear out when the fledgling ventures into the woods with his canine. They rarely speak during these runs. But today…** " Sariel trailed off. Raphael raised an eyebrow at her unusual hesitation. She touched two fingers to his forehead. " **It would be easier if I showed you.** "

Raphael gasped as the conversation between Samuel and Morpheus played out in under a second. Morpheus' questions suddenly made sense. His first concern, however, was the boy's exhaustion. Knowing it was compounded by a lack of sleep, which was being avoided with the aid of Raphael's books, was worrisome.

He looked at the angel guard in a new light. Their reaction was genuine—grace cannot lie. Knowing the young angel feared them to such an extent was devastating.

" **Yes, I was just made aware of Samuel's anxieties. But I had not realized it was so severe.** " Raphael offered the guard captain a smile and patted her shoulder. " **What did you make of what you heard?** "

" **The fledgling must hate us,** " Sariel said brusquely.

" **How so?** " Raphael asked, hiding his shock at her words.

" **He believes us capable of smiting him—that we might do so willingly. Surely, he would hate what he thinks hates him.** "

" **Ah.** " Raphael sighed. It was a very logical argument, but childlike in its simplicity. He opened his mouth to correct her assumption, but Zadkiel spoke first.

" **The child does not hate us, Sariel,** " said the angel of mercy in a soft voice.

" **How could he not?** " she challenged in disbelief.

" **Because he has known hate and dares not return it.** " Zadkiel pressed harder against Nuriel's side. " **He has seen how hate changes a person. That is not the fate he wishes for himself.** "

" **Then what** ** _does_** **he feel?** " Sariel asked.

" **Fear,** " answered Nuriel.

" **But we are here to protect him!** " Sariel began pacing, agitated by her own lack of understanding.

" **Since when has any angel, besides Castiel, protected him? Gabriel tried, and Lucifer killed him. You must admit,** " Zadkiel's chin rose in determination, " **before our Father's actions, no member of the Host would have guarded Samuel Winchester. I know—because when I passed along his prayers to those responsible for action, I received only laughter and sneers.** "

Raphael watched, riveted by the guards' exchange. He'd arrived with the intention of educating the seraphs on basic human emotional needs. Instead, he found himself learning insights he'd been too busy to see—concerning both the guard and Samuel.

Sariel was a natural soldier and strategist—her ability to assess a situation and instinctively know what needed to be done was a trait Raphael had witnessed since her days as a fledgling. She had no experience with humanity beyond her brief time on Earth after Metatron's actions. She had even less involvement with children.

And yet, her choice in guard members revealed an acknowledgment of her own deficiencies. She could have easily chosen two other warriors to protect the misfit-flock. But she picked a Caretaker and the angel who took the prayers of those seeking mercy and compassion. Her decisions showed an unexpected level of mindfulness.

" **Healer, what can we do?** " Nuriel asked. " **I have never known a fledgling who fears us. How did you prove yourself to him?** "

Raphael sat beside the Caretaker-turned-soldier, and thought back to his first encounter with Samuel. Their meeting had been intertwined with pain and smoke and terror—all of which served as barriers between him and the boy. It was remarkable to realize how far they'd come from that day.

" **It was not easy, and I suspect it will no better for you either.** " Raphael threaded his fingers through Nuriel's wings. Not to groom, but to calm her grace. " **Respect his boundaries—if he says 'no' for any reason, you stop. It will likely go against every instinct you have. He does not readily accept comfort, even from those he trusts. You must remember that there is an adult human mind underneath that young grace. He will not respond to anyone who treats him like a child.** "

" **He has always been too mature for his age,** " Zadkiel said, nodding. " **Even his early prayers addressed fears no child should be worried about.** "

Raphael hummed in agreement. " **Go slow with him. Building trust will take time. You will be the first members of the Host he meets. All other introductions will be shaped by his experience today.** "

Sariel made a noise very near a snort. " **What is it the humans say? 'No pressure?'** "

" **No pressure, indeed.** " Raphael smiled. " **Now, let us review how you should, and should not, interact with Winchesters.** "

* * *

Gabriel prepared lunch, trying to ignore Dean's constant rambling. Whoever thought Sam was the worrier in the family had clearly never dealt with the hunter in full big-brother-protective-mode. It had been an exhausting week.

 _I swear to Dad, if he doesn't calm down, I'm gonna tranquilize him!_ Gabriel said silently to Castiel.

 _I might help you,_ Castiel replied.

Gabriel would normally have no problem handling the hunter, but Dean's near-hysteria over the upcoming meeting left no room for Sam to express anything. They'd watched the kid become increasingly withdrawn, but there'd been no opportunity to talk to him alone. He hoped Morpheus was having better luck. The two were inseparable.

He added the final touches to the potato soup, and set it to simmer. The others would arrive soon. Now, if he could just figure out how to get Dean to simmer instead of boil over, they'd be set.

Raphael arrived and quietly asked for a word with the hunter. Gabriel held his breath, desperate for a miracle. When they returned, he counted his prayers as answered.

Dean sat at the table, calmer than he'd been in days. His eyes were slightly red when he smiled at Castiel. The seraph merely nodded back, but his wings telegraphed his relief.

 _I don't know what you said to him, but I owe you a life-debt!_ Gabriel told the Healer. Raphael smiled, but there was an uneasiness in his eyes that only Gabriel could see. _What's wrong?_

Raphael hesitated for a moment, then moved to stand next to Gabriel. He brushed his fingertips against the back of Gabriel's hand. It took every ounce of strength the younger archangel possessed to remain silent as images flooded his mind.

 _Should we postpone?_ he asked as Sam and Morpheus' words echoed in his ears.

 _No,_ Raphael said. _I do not think 'more time' is the answer. He will only learn to trust other angels by interacting with them—not avoidance. I have already spoken to the guard about how best to interact with Samuel. I believe that a good meeting will relieve some of his anxiety._

 _What's gonna relieve_ my _anxiety?_ Gabriel asked wryly.

 _Hopefully, my talk with Dean will help in that area._

 _What did you say to him, anyway?_ He looked over at the hunter who was now talking in hushed tones with Castiel.

 _Oh, I just shared some advice—from one big brother to another._

 _Well, now I really want to know._

Raphael winked. _Sorry. It is a secret that can never be shared with younger siblings._

Gabriel gawked at the Healer. _You say that like I'm not an older brother!_

 _But you are not_ my _older brother._

Gabriel had several comebacks he wanted to use, but Sam and Morpheus' arrival, followed closely by Mary, put an end to their discussion.

His heart sank as he studied the kid with new understanding. The bags under his eyes seemed darker now—his silence, heavier. Gabriel wished it was in his power to magically make it all better.

"Hey there, Sam-a-lam! You're right on time. Do you want any bacon or cheese on the top? Or both?" Gabriel asked as he ladled the hearty soup into a bowl. The kid's appetite had been lower than normal lately—which was saying a lot, considering how hard it was to get Sam to eat on a good day.

"Um, just some cheese. Thanks," Sam said with a yawn. He looked like he'd just woken up.

Gabriel threw a handful of shredded cheese on top, and set it in front of Sam. "Eat up!"

Sam just nodded, and stirred the cheese into the soup with one hand while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"What about you, Deano? Bacon and cheese? Or bacon and bacon?"

"Double bacon and double cheese for me," Dean said with a bit more cheer than they'd been hearing.

"One heart attack, coming right up," Gabriel called back.

Mary joined him at the stove, a bowl in her hand and a smile on her lips. "Well, someone sure is a lot more cheerful. Is that your doing?" she whispered.

"Raphael talked to him," Gabriel said just as low. "Bastard won't tell me what he said though."

 _I can hear you,_ Raphael teased. Gabriel turned and stuck his tongue out without answering.

"Hmm, I may have to try and get it out of him later." Mary took the ladle and served herself. "I could use some pointers on how to de-escalate Dean now that he's too big to put in a time-out."

"Oh, please, let me help with that! It would only take a snap."

"Don't you dare." Mary giggled and shook her head. "I'd never hear the end of it." She smacked his arm on her way to the table.

Gabriel gave Dean his "heart attack in a bowl" and sat down. No one said anything for a few minutes—each person lost in their own thoughts. It was like they were preparing for a funeral.

"So," Gabriel started, just a little too loud, "are there any last-minute questions?" He saw Dean open his mouth, but Castiel elbowed him hard in the side. _Good job, Cassie,_ he said privately with a smirk.

No one answered right away. Then, Mary broke the silence. "I know we're meeting the angels who've been guarding the bunker. And that they're going to help somehow with Sam's lessons." Gabriel nodded in confirmation. "I guess…is there anything we should know about angel decorum? Like, are there things we shouldn't say or do because they'd be seen as rude in your…culture?"

Gabriel swallowed the laugh that was building inside him. But he did grin. "Nah, not really. You're more likely to confuse them with human slang and pop culture. There are things that angels find insulting with other angels, but not so much with humans."

"Like what?" Sam asked in a small voice.

Gabriel turned so fast he almost fell out of his seat at hearing the boy speak. "Well, they aren't gonna get any movie or music references. And they take everything literally, so…"

"No. I mean what do they find insulting with other…angels?" Sam stared firmly at his soup bowl as he swirled his spoon through the cheese.

Some of Gabriel's elation deflated at the boy's nervous tone. He took a deep breath, and reached across the table. Sam finally looked up when wiggling fingers entered his field of vision. Gabriel waited patiently until the tiny hand stretched forward and rested between his palms.

"Sam, you do not need to worry about offending anyone. I know that you're nervous about today, but just be yourself. You won't be accidentally rude—trust me." Gabriel wanted to tell him that angels would see him as baby, and therefore incapable of rudeness. But he didn't think that would be very comforting to Sam in that moment.

"Be myself? That…that's your advice? Because being myself hasn't always worked out great for me." Sam frowned. "I've been reading those books on traditions and history. There are entire chapters dedicated to how to 'present your wings' for different situations. I don't even know what that means!"

"You are not meant to know what that means yet, Samuel," Raphael soothed. "Technically, you should not even have wings at your age. No one expects you to have mastered their use, let alone understand the nuance of angelic body language. That takes centuries for a fledgling to learn when they are raised among the Host."

"Cut yourself some slack, kiddo—you first met angels less than a decade ago. And Cassie is hardly a role model when it comes to Heaven's traditions and customs." Gabriel winked at the seraph.

Castiel nodded. "That is true. I was never very sociable. And even if I had been a 'role model,' you would not have noticed without seeing my wings."

"If you guys say so." Sam took a deep breath, and tried to smile. "I guess we should probably get out there before we're late. Unless tardiness is also accepted."

"Pfft!" Gabriel patted Sam's hand and sat back in his seat. "I was a few thousand years late to the apocalypse."

"Eat more before we go," Dean said, finally joining the conversation. "You barely had anything at breakfast."

Sam made a face and forced himself to eat a few bites before announcing he was done. No amount of cajoling could change his mind. Gabriel gave it up as a lost cause, but vowed to try again at dinner. If the meeting went well, hopefully Sam's nerves would be settled enough to eat more that evening.

Gabriel snapped their dishes away, not wanting to waste time with clean up. They walked out of the bunker as a group. No one spoke, but Raphael hummed an ancient song of peace.

Sam came to a sudden stop when they began turning the corner to the back yard. The boy looked pale, and his fingers twisted the fabric of his pants. Morpheus stood behind him, nuzzling without pushing.

 _This isn't going to work!_ Gabriel made sure only Raphael could hear him.

Dean pushed past everyone, and knelt in front of his brother so they were eye-to-eye. For a minute, they spoke without words. Then, he leaned forward and whispered in Sam's ear.

"You got this, dude. It's just a meet-and-greet…like those stupid open houses we had to do at the start of each school year. All that's missing is the crappy macaroni art."

Sam sniffed and gave a watery laugh. "Didn't you just cover your page in macaroni and glue cheese slices on top?"

Dean grinned. "That school had no appreciation for modern art. I was a freakin' genius and you know it."

"They gave you detention," Sam said disapprovingly.

"Totally worth it." Dean ruffled Sam's hair. "Now, you ready to meet some new teachers? Because if _I_ have to teach you to fly, you'd be using a mini hang-glider. And a helmet. And pillows duct taped to every inch of you. Actually, I'd just get you a bicycle with training wheels—and you'd still have to wear the helmet."

"Jerk," Sam huffed.

"Yeah, yeah, bitch" Dean murmured, wrapping the kid in a hug. "You want me to carry you back there? That way, you'll be more eye-level with everyone."

Sam quickly shook his head. "No. The last thing I want is to look _more_ like a kid."

Morpheus nudged at Sam's back. _I'll take you. You'll be taller on my back. And warmer._

Gabriel thought it would also allow for a quick retreat if the shifter decided there was a threat. But he had to admit—Sam looked like a small warrior ready to ride into battle on the canine's back. It was much more intimidating than being perched on a person's hip like a toddler.

"I'm gonna go with Morpheus, actually," Sam decided, relaying the plan to Dean.

A flash of disappointment crossed Dean's face, but it quickly smoothed into a smirk. "Sure thing. I don't blame you—if I had a valiant, badass steed like him, I'd…" he trailed for a second and shuddered, "nope, I'd still walk. But I'd keep him close."

Sam swung himself onto Morpheus' back. "Chicken," he taunted as the group started moving again.

"Hey now! I've already got a badass steed, and her name is Baby."

Sam's eyes darted around the yard, searching for the guard. But there was no one on the ground. He took a shaky breath and gripped Morpheus' fur tightly.

Gabriel placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Relax, Sam. They're waiting until Raphael calls them down," he said, nodding the go-ahead to the Healer.

 ** _We are ready, Sariel_** _,_ Raphael's voice rang clearly for all the angels to hear.

* * *

Sam felt the guards' arrival before he saw them.

Grace cracked through the yard, louder than Sam had anticipated. It sounded raw and clumsy and less powerful when compared to the archangels—the deafening roar of a go-cart against the purred hum of a muscle car. He jumped at the unexpected volume, almost falling off Morpheus.

Gabriel's hand squeezed his shoulder gently and the air warmed around him. _Everyone's safe, Sam_ , the archangel promised. _Seraphs tend to be noisy little buggers—no finesse or style._ Then, he gestured Raphael to them. _Keep Sam company for me until I introduce everyone._

Raphael smiled at Sam and took Gabriel's place. Sam wanted to protest that he was not an infant that needed to be handed off to another adult, but then he caught sight of the guard. He tightened his grip on Morpheus, and tried not to hunch over on instinct.

Sam had to tilt his head to see around everyone. His mom and Castiel stood on either side of him, a few feet out. Dean stood firm out front like a gate-keeper, never taking his eyes off the newcomers Gabriel walked towards.

They had landed by the tree-line, several yards away. An Asian woman, her face stoic and strong, was the clear leader. Two angels flanked her from behind—an African woman with kind eyes and a white man with a shock of freckles and red hair. All three wore the customary grey suits that seemed to be Heaven's uniform.

"Hey, guys!" Gabriel said cheerfully as he skipped the last few steps. Linking arms with the leader like they were best friends, he steered them to the group. "Welcome to our humble abode-bunker. This is Dean Winchester—his reputation precedes him, I'm sure. I know he looks grumpy, but I assure you, he hasn't stabbed me _once_ since I got back! Then we've got Mother Mary, also a Winchester. Unlike Dean, she looks sweet. Just don't get on her bad side because she can be terrifying."

"Hey!" Mary frowned, but her lips quivered with the effort to not grin.

"And over here is Castiel, who isn't nearly as treacherous as our siblings make him out to be. He's just light-years ahead of what the Host is starting to learn now."

Sam tapped Raphael's hand. He mouthed the words, "What is he doing?!"

Gabriel bumped Castiel with his hip—a move that made the guard leader stumble as she was pulled along. But the rough-housing was softened by Gabriel's wing trailing across Castiel's shoulder. Sam saw the tense muscles under the trench coat sag as they relaxed into the touch.

 _He is being Gabriel,_ Raphael answered. He gently rested his hand on the back of Sam's head. _Those traditions and customs you worried about earlier? Gabriel delights in finding decidedly non-traditional ways to carry them out._

Sam took a deep breath when they turned to him. The leader looked less stoic now and more flustered. The other woman openly smiled and shook her head in fond exasperation, like she was used to Gabriel's antics. He didn't know if he'd ever seen another angel smile so brightly.

"And last, but not least, we have our dynamic duo—Sam and Morpheus. Each are formidable in their own way, but completely unstoppable when together. And yes, they both bite," the archangel said, winking at Sam.

"Gabriel!" Sam blurted out, feeling his cheeks burn. He'd only bitten people under dire circumstances.

Dean was right—this was exactly like open house when all the parents and teachers try their best to good-naturedly embarrass the kids. He had just never been on the receiving end of it. John never attended their school functions.

Gabriel ruffled his hair, and then motioned at Raphael. "I won't waste our time with this guy. You know him already."

Sam saw the leader's eyes widen at hearing the Healer referred to as "this guy." Gabriel maneuvered her toward the front of the group again. The red-haired man gave Sam a small smile and followed. But Raphael drew the other woman to his side with a touch. Sam was surprised to see her lean against the archangel.

Once Gabriel was in place, he released the woman and stepped to the side. With a flourished gesture in her direction, he said, "Everyone—this is Sariel. She's in charge of keeping us safe, and has never learned to smile. Give me some time—I only started her humor lessons a couple weeks ago." Sariel immediately smoothed the wrinkles from her suit and edged further away from Gabriel. "This is Zadkiel. He's one of the youngest and nerdiest, but he can hold his own. And in the back, we have Nuriel. You'll never find a sweeter sibling—which I can only say because I'm out of reach from her arms and wings."

Sam sat in stunned silence, barely feeling Morpheus beneath him. He watched as Zadkiel broke off from Sariel's side and walked up to Castiel with a tentative smile. Dean and Sariel were left to a staring contest until the hunter began growling out ground rules and safety questions. She answered everything with calm efficiency, and the two quickly fell into a discussion on defense strategies.

Mary seemed torn as to where to go, but as soon as her eyes landed on Sam she drifted his way. "How are you doing?" she asked in a low tone.

Sam shrugged. He hadn't known what to expect—but _this_ certainly wasn't it. He'd have felt silly if he didn't feel so numb.

She leaned down and kissed his crown. Then, straightened up and looked at the angel standing with Raphael. "Hello, I'm Mary. And apparently, we're both sweet-but-deadly."

Nuriel grinned and glanced at Raphael. **_Humans shake hands, correct?_**

Sam startled, not expecting to hear her voice in his head. The movement caught the angel's eye, but she just kept smiling. Raphael nodded, and Nuriel proudly put out her hand. "Do not listen to the Messenger. He likes to play games. It is nice to meet you, Mary. I am Nuriel." Her vessel's voice was slightly deeper than the one Sam heard over angel-radio, but it was warm.

Mary looked delighted by the prospect of shaking the angel's hand. "Yes, we are very used to Gabriel's theatrics around here."

"Hey!" Gabriel yelled from across the group.

Raphael ignored him. "Nuriel used to work with me. She was one of the best Caretakers in Heaven."

Sam remembered that Caretakers were like nursery workers. He felt a tiny flare of outrage that they thought he needed a child specialist. But he didn't have time to protest.

Nuriel knelt down and extended a hand for Morpheus to sniff. He licked her wrist in a show of approval. She jumped with a giggle at the sensation. Then, she lifted her gaze.

"Hello, Sam."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
** I'm SOOO sorry I've not been replying to reviews on here, my beautiful darlings!  
The Struggle Is Real to navigate this site's review/comment inboxes and I feel like weeping with how often I have to navigate back and forth to answer everyone.  
I'm going to TRY and see if my nerves can handle it from now on...but I want you to know that every single comment is ADORED AND CHERISHED AND SAVED FOREVER IN MY EMAIL FOLDERS! I appreciate all your feedback, and feel blessed to know so many folks enjoy reading this story.


	37. Teach Your Children pt8

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
Part 8: They Seek The Truth Before They Can Die**

Nuriel only had eyes for the boy.

After two weeks of guarding the bunker from a distance, she longed to be closer to the young grace. It called to her, reminding her of who she had been so very long ago. A Caretaker without a charge has no purpose.

Listening to Sam express his fears to the shifter that morning had dampened her excitement. She already knew the fledgling was unique—the archangels had made that clear from the beginning. No amount of grace would erase his traumas as a human. Her experience felt useless here.

He was not one of her children, raised in a carefully controlled environment with every detail designed to nurture and protect his sensitivity. He had never been so exhausted from playing too hard with other fledglings that he sought her out, wanting to be wrapped in layers of grace until everything else faded away in a cocoon of safety. He did not know her voice or touch or teachings.

Gabriel's introductions were bizarre, but predictable. The Messenger had always had a flair for doing things his own way. He dragged Sariel by the arm from person to person, flustering their leader. Nuriel exchanged amused looks with Zadkiel as they followed silently.

And then, she finally stood in front of Sam—close enough to see the individual shards of soul fused with seams of their Father's blinding grace. Gabriel's teasing washed over her, but she didn't hear his words. Nothing could tear her attention away from the tiny wings that shuddered in embarrassment and outrage.

They were beautiful. A wisp-thin veil of white light and electric violet that telegraphed the child's every emotion. She focused on their beauty, allowing it to distract her from the horror of seeing wings on one so young and knowing what caused them to grow.

Raphael pulled her to his side with a knowing smile as Gabriel returned to the front of the group. **_Your face, as Gabriel would say, is looking very "gooey."_**

 ** _I have no idea what you are talking about._** Nuriel leaned against her mentor and fought the urge to sneak peeks of the boy.

 ** _I know you—it is the same look you had every time a new generation of angels filled your nursery._**

Nuriel sighed as nerves overtook her excitement. **_I never thought I would see a fledgling again. Now, there is one standing on the Earth who has never even_** **seen** ** _the inside of my nursery. Part of me wants to just bundle him up and whisk him away to Heaven._**

 ** _Yes,_** Raphael nodded in agreement. **_Samuel has a way of bringing that out in us. I have learned to suppress many of my own instincts. It takes time…and vast amounts of energy._**

 ** _And I thought no fledgling would present a greater challenge than Balthazar,_** she said wryly.

The Healer's chuckle rang through her head as they watched Mary walk toward them. The human mother's story was well known among the Host. All the Winchesters were legends at this point.

The human brother was already in a fiery debate with Sariel. Nuriel wondered if the guard leader saw glimpses of Michael in the man born to be his vessel. A short distance away, Zadkiel and Castiel stood in silent communication. She thought they might need a gentle reminder on human customs.

 ** _Humans shake hands, correct?_** Nuriel asked, making sure the other angels could hear her.

Sam jumped and stared at her with wide eyes. She smiled, filing his reaction away for later evaluation, and greeted the mother. Then, there was only one more person standing between her and the child.

Morpheus' gaze remained steady when Nuriel knelt and reached her hand out for inspection. The guard had all watched the shifter's arrival closely, prepared to act swiftly should he turn on the flock. Sariel still felt uneasy about his presence, but Nuriel and Zadkiel adored him from afar.

A tongue flicked across her wrist. It tickled, surprising her, and she didn't try to stop the laugh that escaped. She had never interacted with a dog before, let alone a magical one.

Morpheus raised his head slightly and looked from her to his charge. The gesture was clear—she was free to interact with the boy who sat on his back. Excitement returned at full-force.

Nuriel looked up into hazel eyes brimming with too many emotions. Lingering traces of anger still sparked through Sam's grace from Raphael's introduction of her, although she didn't know which part had caused it. Was it because she had worked with the Healer or the fact that she'd been a Caretaker? Neither fact seemed worthy of inspiring such a reaction, but Raphael seemed amused by it.

"Hello, Sam," Nuriel said. She didn't hold out her hand or stand. Raphael's earlier warnings about letting Sam set the pace echoed through her mind. Silence filled each second that passed, but she was patient. She could out-wait any fledgling.

Sam's hands clenched tighter around Morpheus' fur. He opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed. The canine's tail began to sway back and forth, picking up speed and height until the tip touched the boy's hair with each pass.

Sam shuddered as though chilled and batted the tail away from his head without looking away from Nuriel. "Quit that," he muttered, then cleared his throat. "Hello."

"I have a brother who likes to do that—with his wings, of course, not a tail," Nuriel said.

Sam gave a timid smile. "I can't get these things to move on command yet. But since Dean wouldn't feel them anyway, I just stick to hitting him with my hand."

"And kick with your feet. And stab with forks," Mary mumbled under her breath.

Nuriel raised a brow at Raphael. "You have not taught him to move his wings?"

"We have been focusing on other aspects of Samuel's education," Raphael said.

"Uh huh." She stared at the Healer until his wings shifted nervously.

"Perhaps we should sit by the fire. That way we can all be comfortable while you evaluate my teaching methods." His mouth twitched as he tried not to smile.

"That sounds like a good idea," Mary said. "It's pretty cold out here today. Sam, is that hoodie warm enough?"

 _We can go back inside to get another jacket if you'd like, pup._ Nuriel suspected that Morpheus' offer was more an excuse to escape than to retrieve clothing.

"I'm fine," Sam answered them both. His cheeks, already pink from the crisp air, turned red from their fussing.

When they reached the blazing fire, Morpheus laid down and Sam remained seated on his back. Raphael settled onto a pillow next to them. Nuriel watched, unsure where to go.

Mary sat across from her son and looked at Nuriel, patting the blanket beside her. "No awkward lurking," the mother ordered with a warm smile.

Nuriel rushed to obey, grateful for guidance. She glanced at the others. Gabriel was leading Dean and the three seraphs towards them.

"You kids have the right idea!" Gabriel flopped on Nuriel's other side, knocking into her in his haste. "How's it going, sis?"

"Nuriel was about to tell me how I have not been following her preferred teaching schedule," Raphael answered before she could get her breath back.

"Yikes!" Gabriel grimaced. "Maybe I should come back later."

"Oh no, brother." Raphael pinned him to the blanket with a look. "I am sure she will have things to tell you as well."

Sam watched them, gradually relaxing with the warmth and banter. He absently played with Morpheus' fur as his eyes tracked from person to person. The closer his flock drew in, the more his tension eased.

Dean stalked a foot in front of Sariel, continuing their discussion as he kept fierce eyes trained on Sam. His aggressiveness startled Nuriel, and she turned to Gabriel. **_Is something wrong? He seems angry—like he is going into battle._**

Sam made a choking sound as Gabriel laughed. "That's just Dean Winchester. He puts my 'overprotective big brother' routine to shame. And Sam moved, like, a whole ten feet away from him, so…" he trailed off as though that explained everything.

Dean ignored their laughs, but appeared to be analyzing the scene. His eyes scanned each person before returning to Sam. He stopped a couple yards from Raphael, and yelled without turning his head, "Move it, nerd-angels!"

Nuriel didn't know who he was yelling at until Castiel started jogging. Zadkiel looked startled, but followed. Dean's hand shot out, grabbing the arm of the trench coat before the seraphs passed.

Castiel and Dean shared a long, close stare. Raphael's lecture about "appropriate human behaviors" had definitely included personal space and prolonged eye contact. Nuriel remembered him specifically saying that they should _not_ do it.

If the two were angels, she would assume they were speaking privately. But it was an intense posture if no actual words were being exchanged. "Does Dean have the gift of hearing angels?" she whispered to Gabriel.

"Oh honey," the archangel slung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, "Dean doesn't hear angels when we scream in his face. No, this is a 'Winchesters and Cas' thing."

"I do _not_ do that!" Sam sputtered. Nuriel almost flew out of her vessel. So much for the timid fledgling of ten minutes ago.

"Whatever!" Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You and Dean have knock-down, drag-out fights without saying a word. You have long, philosophical conversations with Cas using just your eyebrows. And don't get me started about when all three of you get into a silent stand-off!"

"Why is Gabriel yelling?" Castiel asked as he moved around the fire. He sat on the other side of the flames, a few feet away from the others. Zadkiel kept pace and sat between him and Mary.

"Because he's a drama queen!" Sam scowled at the archangel.

Castiel nodded solemnly.

Nuriel tried to smother her laughter with her hand. She felt a strange vibration from her stomach, like a whirling ball of static. It left her giddy and weightless and dizzy—ridiculously happy and on the verge of tears.

The sudden grief from realizing how much Heaven had lost mixed with remembering joy. _We had this once,_ she thought. _How did we forget?_

Gabriel squeezed her shoulder again, and cool grace soothed her own. **_I know. It is overwhelming. Especially once you figure out it gets even better!_**

Her breath hitched. **_First of all, that is not possible. And secondly, you are not allowed to make me cry. I need to prove my trustworthiness to the boy, and I cannot if…_** she trailed off.

 ** _You think crying would deem you unworthy of trust?_** Gabriel swayed, rocking her slightly. **_Tears do not indicate weakness, Nuriel. Humans are emotional creatures—it is their grace. And in this house, we all cry…a lot._**

Nuriel scanned the faces around the fire. Mary and Castiel were both listening to Zadkiel as he answered their questions. Sariel and Dean spoke in hushed tones off to the side, although the hunter kept his eyes on his family. Raphael was trying to say something to Sam but the boy was not listening. He was too busy frowning at her.

 _Is she okay?_ Sam's voice boomed through her mind, his eyes flicking toward Gabriel.

Nuriel managed not to flinch at the deafening sound. Being a Caretaker meant working with little ones who spoke at unregulated volumes. Zadkiel and Sariel had no such experience, and she saw both seraphs jump.

Sam saw it too, and he sucked in a breath. "Did everyone hear that?" he whispered to Raphael.

"You were a little loud," the Healer murmured, carding his fingers through the boy's hair.

Sam groaned and scrubbed at his face. _Sorry._ The word was barely there—a whisper of air on the edges of their grace. But the angels all heard it.

 _There is no need to apologize._ Nuriel smiled, still resting her head against Gabriel. _When you speak like this, imagine we are in a silent room and standing very close._

 _We're talking "Dean and Cas" close,_ Gabriel interjected.

Castiel snorted and shot the archangel a glower.

 _Like this?_ Sam asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Nuriel's smile widened as the little voice that rang clearly. He was still quiet, but she knew he would learn to adjust as he grew more confident. _Excellent!_

"Hey!" Dean barked, cutting off whatever Sariel had been saying. "Let's keep it audible, people!"

"Sorry, Deano!" Gabriel grinned sheepishly. "No more passing notes…we promise."

"So, Sam," Nuriel stretched and sat up, "what kind of things have you been learning?"

"Um," Sam wiped his palms on his pant legs, "mostly how to control my grace. Like energy manipulation and making balls of light. And I've been reading the books Raphael brought me about history and customs."

The Healer grunted at the same time Morpheus snorted. Gabriel remained silent but tensed. Nuriel guessed that the books were going to become a topic of later conversation now that they knew Sam was reading instead of sleeping.

Sam gave Raphael a worried glance. "I…the books are also improving my Enochian."

"And what do you enjoy the most so far?" Nuriel asked.

"What do I enjoy?" Sam echoed back. His eyes darted from face to face, as though seeking the "right" answer.

Nuriel nodded encouragingly but remained silent. He understood the question even if it had never been asked of him. But there was no need to push.

He'd been rushed into answers and decisions enough in the past. She saw it in his determination during morning runs and the frantic way he talked about the future—like it was barreling toward him at terrifying speed. Time moved differently for angels and he would burn up before reaching adulthood at this rate.

"I guess," Sam bit his lip and dropped his gaze to the floor, "I liked talking to the trees."

Gabriel straightened in surprise. "Really?"

"When did this happen?" Raphael asked. Castiel shrugged, just as lost.

"I..it was the morning…" Sam's face fell.

"It was right before the Brits blasted Cas and I outta here," Gabriel finished for him. "That's been your favorite thing so far?"

Sam nodded. His shoulders hunched over like he was bracing for a lecture or ridicule. Nuriel held herself still despite wanting to fly to his side.

Raphael soothed the boy's shifting wings with his hand. "Did you know that is one of _my_ favorite pastimes? I was the one who taught Gabriel how to communicate with different life forms."

"Yeah, but you like to have deep meaningful conversations with them," Gabriel said. "I like to find the gossipers of the forest."

"Of course you do," Raphael sighed.

"Well, now that I know how much you liked it, we'll have to do it more often!" Gabriel grinned.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, perking up.

"Hells yeah! I found a really old tree a few days ago I think you'll really like—she has _all_ the dirt on the forest."

Mary snorted at his pun and elbowed him.

Gabriel just giggled at her reaction. "Well, it's true!"

Nuriel shoot her head fondly, and focused again on Sam. He was relaxing into Raphael's touch and smiling at the others' antics. It gave her an idea. "So, have they explained flying to you yet, Sam?"

"A little?" Sam shrugged. "I know that it isn't flying like birds—I won't be flapping or gliding through the air. The wings are like mini-TARDISes…oh," his eyes widened and Nuriel wondered if he'd said a word wrong. She certainly didn't recognize it from any language she knew. "That's a…from a tv show…you don't…never mind! Wings move through time and space by bending it."

"Like personal alien spaceships strapped to our backs," Gabriel whispered the words like they were supposed to explain something. Nuriel followed Mary's example and elbowed her brother's side. He gasped and rolled forward. "I can't sit between you two—I won't survive this conversation."

"Why do messengers feel this need to talk without ceasing?" she aimed her question at Raphael who simply shook his head with a smile. She returned to Sam and nodded. "Yes, that is a very good technical description of how our wings function. But have they explained how to do it?"

"I read about the process and how everything can affect the outcome. You can hold your wings at certain angles to change speed. And it mentioned something… **time slip-streams** ," he glanced at Raphael, looking for confirmation on his Enochian word choice, and received a bewildered nod, "places between dimensions where time moves differently. You can use them to your advantage if you know about them—use less energy to get to places or times faster. But it can throw you off course if you stumble onto one. And Gabriel told me how angel banishing works—that it short-circuits your wings and they fly themselves…away." Sam flushed and stopped talking when he saw all the angels staring at him with startled expressions.

Nuriel felt her mouth twitch, not sure if she wanted to laugh or yell or cry. "Those are…" she paused, searching for the right words, "all very good things to keep in mind, but you do not need to worry about any of that just yet. I can bring you more _appropriate_ reading material about flying, if you'd like."

"Oh, really? Yes, please!" Sam nodded eagerly. "I think the book I read was part-anatomy, part-physics. There were diagrams and a lot of theory."

"Yes, I know which one you are describing." She leveled a look at Raphael. "That is a very advanced text on the fundamentals of grace mechanics—usually reserved for students who are centuries into their chosen field of study."

"I…I like reading about theory. It's interesting." Sam bit his lip again.

"And you're good at grasping theoretical arguments!" Gabriel rushed to reassure—and probably postpone further criticism. "But Nuriel's right—reading that right now is only going to be confusing. It would be like learning all the chemical reactions that take place during baking before you've ever even tasted or seen food! Or learning musical theory without hearing a song. Theory should fill in the blanks and expand your understanding—not lay the primary foundation. And it's definitely not a good first-step to flying."

"Oh. Sorry?" The poor boy grimaced at what he perceived as his own mistake.

Nuriel waved off his apology. "I respect eager students. And I would love to discuss theory with you—I haven't had the chance to explore academic topics in ages."

"But I need to 'hear the song' before we can break down the elements of how it's written?"

"Exactly!" Nuriel leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Now, the first step in flying is experiencing it with another angel. I know you've flown before, but have you done it since sprouting your own wings?"

"No." Sam's wings fluttered nervously while his face remained calm.

Raphael returned to running his palm over the boy's back. "We have avoided flying until we knew your wings were strong enough to handle it." He looked at Nuriel. "They were exposed to this plain without any protection and I had to remove sections that were burned. It took time to heal and build their own protective layer."

Nurial winced. "I'm sorry," she said honestly.

Sam tried to shrug around Raphael's hand. "It wasn't your fault. And I'm okay now."

There was no way that was true. She'd helped in Heaven's infirmary during their worst battles. Soldiers' screams and the smell of burnt grace blended together in her memory. It was unimaginable for a fledgling to suffer through such an injury. "I am glad," was all she could say out loud.

Sam cleared his throat. "So, the first step is flying around with someone else driving. Then what?"

"Then you will focus on making small jumps—flying to someone. However, that requires you to recognize their grace. Do you know what I mean?" Nuriel crossed her fingers. This would be a lot more complicated if Sam couldn't identify one angel from another by grace alone.

"You mean how each grace feels different?" Sam asked.

Nuriel nodded in relief. "That is exactly what I mean. You can feel the difference between Gabriel and Raphael and Castiel?"

"Yeah."

"Can you feel their grace without them touching you?"

"Sometimes." Sam frowned in concentration. "If one of them flies into a room, I can usually tell who it is without looking. And I can tell if someone uses their grace—even if they're trying to be sneaky." He directed that last part at a surprised Castiel.

The seraph recovered quickly and rolled his eyes. "Gabriel uses his grace for pranks on a daily basis, but I help you remove a lid _one time_. How do _I_ get labeled as 'sneaky' forever?"

Gabriel snickered and stuck his tongue out.

Nuriel covered the archangel's face with her palm and pushed him back. "How about us? Me, Zadkiel, and Sariel? Can you feel us from where you're sitting?" Fledglings were notoriously sensitive to other grace-beings. Nuriel had always wondered if it was naturally due to being angels or because they were raised immersed in grace.

Sam's grace drew inward, gathering into a ball away from the surface. "Um, not really. I can tell you're here because there's a lot more pressure in the air. It kinda feels like being in an airplane at the start of take-off. But I can't tell you apart."

 _Interesting—maybe too sensitive?_ Nuriel added it to her growing list of observations. She might need to write it down later for the archives. "Whose grace are you most familiar with?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. The archangels' graces are really strong, but I've known Castiel's the longest—I could recognize him even as a human."

Nuriel blinked in surprise. Human sensitivity to grace was rare. She wondered if it was genetic or because he had been a vessel. Were both brothers as perceptive? "Then perhaps we should use Castiel as the starting anchor?"

Gabriel and Raphael both nodded their agreement while Castiel looked startled.

"What's an anchor?" Dean asked.

"An angel learns to fly by honing in on the grace of an anchor and moving toward it," Nuriel explained. "Most of the Host still use this method—we are usually sent in groups with our leader acting as anchor. It is more complicated to fly into a location on our own."

"So, I'll only be flying _to_ an angel?" Sam looked disappointed.

"In the beginning? Yes. Now, I know you've been groomed. Have you ever groomed them?" Nuriel asked.

"What?" Disappointment switched to confusion. "What does that have to do with flying?"

"It has to do with interacting with grace. Recognizing Castiel is only half the work—your grace needs to reach for him and move you across a distance. Are you up for a little practice?" She gestured for Castiel to come sit in the space between her and Sam.

"I guess?" Sam sounded less than certain as he watched his friend navigate around the fire and people.

Morpheus shifted so Sam could turn and hang his legs off to one side. It kept Sam elevated enough to reach higher parts of Castiel's wings without moving to a pillow. Castiel reached down, scratching behind the canine's ears before sitting in front of the boy.

Nuriel watched as the seraph gave a slight shudder and manifested his wings. She'd always loved Castiel's grace. The deep black reflected swirls of colors like galaxies in the night sky. She could tell Sam loved them too by the way his eyes lit up.

Castiel scooted closer, settling when he felt the little fingers tentatively touch one wing.

"Tell me if I'm doing it wrong. I don't want to hurt you or pull too hard," Sam said quietly.

"You won't hurt me, Sam," Castiel reassured. He reached a hand back and pressed on a spot right above the boy's knee. Sam jumped and yanked forcefully on the wing. Castiel smirked. "You are more likely to tickle me with such a light grip."

"Dude, I will never get over how freaky that is," Dean said, squinting his eyes and staring at his brother's hands, "watching you paw at the air."

Sam scowled at him, but kept working his fingers through the dark wings. "Your face is freaky," he mumbled. "Why don't you go dig a moat, or whatever you were discussing? Quit staring at me like I'm disarming an invisible bomb."

Dean huffed. "You _better_ not make Cas explode. Been there—done that—had to wash the t-shirt." Sariel stepped back in alarm, like she feared proximity to a Winchester might make her explode too. The hunter raised his hands, palms up, in reassurance. "It's okay! Cas hasn't blown up in a while. It was probably just a phase—it's not contagious!"

"No one is going to explode," Castiel's voice rumbled, deep and calm. "Dean, relax. Sariel, ignore him. Sam, please continue."

Dean just grinned at them, then shot Nuriel a wink when he caught her gaze. **_What does that mean?_** she asked Gabriel privately.

 ** _It means he accomplished his mission,_** Gabriel answered, nodding toward Sam.

Nuriel didn't understand at first. Not until she noticed how confident the boy was now that he'd been able to vent some tension. His grip was steady and his voice strong.

 ** _Hmm._** It was not a technique she used with fledglings, but this human knew Sam better than anyone.

Raphael shifted in his seat, turning so he was facing Sam's back. "I think you could use a little work as well," he whispered. His fingers sifted through the wings with a light touch.

"Sam," Nuriel said after giving Raphael a few minutes to fall into a rhythm, "I want you to focus on the difference between Raphael and Castiel's grace."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes. His grace glowed and pushed outward. It illuminated his fingertips, making Castiel shiver and whisper guarantees that he was okay when Sam stopped.

"Can you feel the difference?" Nuriel asked, keeping her voice soft.

"Yeah," Sam answered quietly like he was in a trance. "Raphael is heavy. And warm. Like when you stand where sand meets the ocean—you just sink down, but you can still feel all the little grains? I don't know if I'm describing it right."

"It is a perfect description, Sam." She saw the Healer's cheeks flush with pleasure at the words. "And what about Castiel?"

Sam smiled and kept his eyes closed. "Cas is like…warm water…or maybe a summer storm. He even sounds like it. He has this…resonance. Like rain pouring against a metal roof, but deeper and not super loud? And there's this smell when he uses his grace…like the air when heavy clouds move in before a storm."

"Well, you just stay focused on that warm summer rain, okay? Don't just feel it—reach for it with your fingertips." Nuriel leaned against Gabriel again and basked in the moment. She watched silently, allowing the boy to work in peace.

Mary turned to Zadkiel and whispered questions about how grace was perceived by other angels. Did they all feel Castiel as rain or was that just Sam's experience? Nuriel smiled as she listened to the seraph's attempt to answer.

Raphael began to hum. It was a melody Nuriel had not heard since before humanity's creation—one of the songs of learning used to teach the story of Heaven's Garden. The words flowed back to her gradually.

 ** _So, do we pass your scrutiny, oh master?_**

Nuriel turned her head slightly to find Gabriel's gaze only inches away. **_You have done a wonderful job._**

Gabriel blinked. **_What? Really?_**

 ** _Look at him._** She waited until his eyes shifted to Sam. **_He is a miracle. Against all odds, he exists and he is thriving. I may have only met him today, but I was here when you brought him home after the kidnapping. I remember feeling his panic and pain. His despair at Raphael's healing. It shook all of us in the guard._**

 ** _Yeah,_** Gabriel's stare grew distant. **_I forget how far we have come—in so short a time._**

 ** _He was shaking with anxiety this morning. Now, he is sitting with strangers around a fire, allowing someone to touch his wings while he grooms another for the first time. He is extremely vulnerable—and he is falling asleep against Castiel._**

 ** _He is…what?!_** Gabriel shook himself and really focused on Sam.

The boy's hands were no longer moving. Instead, his fingers were clenched in Castiel's wings, tangled in the inky grace. Sam's face pressed against the seraph's back. Nuriel hoped he could breathe around the beige fabric.

"Dad above," Gabriel swore in a low voice, "that kid can sleep anywhere…as long as it's not a bed."

"Is he asleep?" Castiel whispered.

"He's either asleep or he's really intent on sniffing your wings," Gabriel answered. Sam didn't move. Castiel sent an impressive glare to the archangel. "Oh, yeah. He's definitely asleep if he isn't protesting."

"I believe he has not been sleeping well," Raphael said, folding the small wings into place.

"Do we have to wake him up?" Mary asked. Her face and tone suggested she was firmly against such action.

Morpheus agreed, giving a low growl to voice his opinion.

"If Sammy's too tired to stay awake while _sitting,_ then he's too tired to fly," Dean added.

"Alright, everyone calm down," Gabriel hushed them as he maneuvered to his knees and crept closer to Castiel. "Dean, for once, is right—mark it on your calendars. Sam needs to be rested and fully-charged before we start flying. Now, let's see if we can make him a bit more comfortable."

Raphael helped him carefully extract Sam's fingers from Castiel's wings. Gabriel held the boy's forehead, letting him lean against his palm while Castiel shifted away. It looked like they were going to make space to lay him down on the blanket.

Nuriel couldn't stop the disgruntled sound that came from the back of her throat—especially when she saw Sam's grace reach for the seraph as he moved. He grew restless in the archangels' hands, whining when he couldn't reach what he wanted. The archangels looked alarmed but unsure what to do with the fledgling propped up in their arms.

"Cas, get your ass back there before he wakes up!" Dean ordered in a whisper. Nuriel's respect for the human brother rose tenfold as she watched him carefully step around the pile of angels and pillows to reach Sam. He quickly and expertly took over holding the boy, batting away the archangels, and transferred him into Castiel's arms.

Castiel gently adjusted his sleeping bundle. Sam's body curled toward the seraph once his head rested in the crook of Castiel's arm. Everyone held their breath until the boy sighed and relaxed completely.

Nuriel shook her head slowly at the whole scene.

"What?" Gabriel asked as he sank back down beside her.

"Is it always like this?" She gestured toward the flock who were all still hypersensitive to Sam's every breath.

"Oh, you mean are we all mother-hens who constantly run around in a state of panic if Sam so much as sneezes?" Gabriel gave her a guilty grin. "Yeah, pretty much."

"It is no wonder you are all exhausted. Do you have a routine? Set actions and roles for each member to take for different situations?" Heaven functioned under extreme regulation. Everyone had a place and knew what to do in any event.

"Do we have a routine?" Gabriel let out a high, manic laugh that grated on Nuriel's grace. "Sister, we _try_ to have a routine. _Try_ to have three meals a day with grace lessons scheduled in the morning and afternoons. _Try_ to get everyone to sleep on time and do our best to make sure it's not interrupted. And you know, I don't think we've managed to hold to that schedule for an entire day yet."

Nuriel looked at the humans—the brother and mother. She had not considered their role beyond the comfort their presence would bring to the child. But she saw how Mary was sure to include everyone, and even showed care and affection toward Zadkiel in their conversation.

Dean's role was the most defined of the flock. He confidently knew exactly what needed to be done and took charge when others floundered. He was _not_ a passive supporter.

"I had not considered the complications of merging an angel flock with a human family. It must be difficult to find your balance."

"It's not that," Gabriel said. He stared at Sam with a sad smile. "Balancing the human and angel members of our little group was the easy part. The brothers and Castiel were already bound together—the rest of us just filled in the space around them."

"Then what is the hard part?"

Gabriel nodded toward Sam. "Balancing the human and angel aspects in that little guy. He is a ball of internal conflict walking around on two legs—an adult human mind crammed into a child's body and made of infant grace."

Nuriel had not thought of it in such terms. But the picture Gabriel painted clarified some things. It also created a whole new list of growing concerns. "So, it is Sam who is unsure of his role because he is carrying three. And everyone else is constantly trying to determine which aspect of Sam's self you should be reacting to."

"Yep." Gabriel turned to her. "If he wakes up right now, there's no telling how he'd react to Cas holding him. If he was feeling particularly adult, he'd be embarrassed and flustered and angry. But if he's young—meaning vulnerable or scared—he'd probably burrow further into Cas' coat and kick anyone who tried to make him move."

"Those are very different reactions," Nuriel said slowly.

"Now, how do I build a routine around that?" Gabriel challenged her, one eyebrow raised.

"Very carefully."

Gabriel's laughter was immediately hushed by several voices.

Nuriel grinned.

* * *

Sam didn't remember how the meeting ended. One minute he was grooming Castiel, surrounded by the bright scent of rain, and the next he was waking up in a bed, wedged between the seraph and his brother. They were in the communal room again.

 _Ugh, what time is it?_ he thought. A hand brushed through Sam's hair, making him jump.

Castiel huffed a quiet laugh. _It is one in the morning._

 _Did I…did I say that over angel radio?_ Sam squirmed around Castiel's hand, trying to look at his face.

 _You fell asleep while connected to my grace. It opens a bond for a time and makes it very easy to hear one another._ Castiel pulled the blanket up around Sam's shoulders. _Try to sleep a little more._

Sam tried to do the math. _I've been asleep for at least ten to twelve hours, Cas!_

 _Yes, and you need more._

He'd fallen asleep in his very first class. He'd never slept in school—not even during naptime in kindergarten! Humiliation churned his stomach. _Were they mad?_ he asked.

 _Who?_

 _The guard!_ Sam buried his face in the pillow, hoping to smother himself into oblivion. _I fell asleep during the meeting!_

 _I remember. I believe Dean took a picture._

Sam was pretty sure Castiel had a smug smile on his face. He kicked at the seraph's shins, but the blankets made it nearly impossible to move his feet. The effect was rather unimpressive if Castiel's deep chuckle was any indication. _You suck._

 _No one is angry. Now, go back to sleep or I will involve Dean in this dispute._

Sam gasped and froze under the blankets. _Traitor!_

 _You are welcome to get up,_ Gabriel's voice interrupted. _We can discuss why you are reading dusty old books about theory instead of sleeping at night._

Cold dread crept down Sam's spine. Had the archangel gone into his room? Did Gabriel know about the book under his pillow? The light tone seemed to suggest that he didn't know—that he was only aware of Sam's late night reading. _I'll sleep,_ he sighed in resignation.

 _I thought you might,_ Gabriel said.

Sam slowly drifted, eventually falling asleep. When he awoke again, he knew it was still early. Dean's muffled snores filled the space behind Sam.

"What time's it now?" Sam asked through a yawn.

"Six," Castiel answered.

Sam felt groggy after sleeping three-quarters of a day. It was more than he'd had in the last four nights combined. He stretched under the blanket, trying to rid his muscles of their stiffness. "Am I _allowed_ to get up now?"

Castiel lightly bopped the top of his head. "You were allowed to get up before. You just did not like Gabriel's terms."

"There shouldn't be 'terms' to getting up," Sam grumbled, crawling out from under the covers. He glanced over toward the archangel's usual spot on the sofa and was surprised to find it empty.

"He's starting breakfast," Castiel explained.

Sam's stomach growled painfully at the mention of food. He saw Morpheus' little ears perk up from a bundle of bedding at the noise. "Not a word," he warned Castiel.

Castiel mimed zipping his mouth and Sam resisted the urge to smack him. The angel was spending too much time with Dean. He settled for glaring instead.

Crawling off the bed, Sam snagged Morpheus and left the room. He needed to get ready for the day. And find better hiding places for the book and his notes before Gabriel decided to have that "talk" in the future.

He paused outside his bedroom, and glanced down at Morpheus. "Go on ahead to the kitchen. I'm just gonna get changed. I'll be right there."

Morpheus snorted and shifted into his larger form. _So I cannot see where you hide the book you don't want everyone to know you're reading?_

Sam gaped at him. There was no way Morpheus knew what the book was about—he couldn't understand spoken Enochian, let alone the written form. The shame of deceit soured his hunger. "I didn't…"

 _You are allowed to have your own secrets, pup._ Morpheus nuzzled his hair, making Sam feel worse. _Just make sure the secret is worth it in the end._

Sam stood frozen as he watched the shifter disappear around the corner. _Well, shit,_ he thought, opening the door. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him.

He went straight to the bed and pulled the book from underneath his pillow. It was barely large enough to be called a book—certainly not in comparison to the other enormous, leather-bound tomes brought from Heaven. It fit easily in his hand and contained less than thirty pages. But what wonderfully enlightening pages they were.

His fingers skimmed the edges of the thin manuscript. It held one of the primary things he wanted to learn and knew the others would rail against teaching—the step-by-step instructions on how to manifest an angel blade. There were a few pointers on how to fight with the blade, but Sam mostly wanted to know how to _make_ one. He already knew how to fight with knives and swords.

In the grand scheme of his life, this secret barely registered—not when held up against Stanford or Ruby or the Book of the Damned. Plus, Raphael _brought_ the book for him! So why did this small bundle of paper seem so heavy in his hand?

Sam sighed and tucked the manuscript between the mattress and headboard, under the fitted sheet. It was thin enough to not stick out. No one would notice unless they stripped the bed. He tried not to imagine what would happen if it was found.

 ** _When_** _it's found,_ his mind whispered. _When have you ever successfully kept secrets that didn't turn into disasters?_

Sam told his mind to shut up and then went to breakfast.

The morning flew by with their usual routine. Food, run, short grooming session, and lunch. Nerves were nowhere near as high today when they all filed back outside to meet the guard.

Sam walked on his own this time. Morpheus had been mostly silent since his words of wisdom before breakfast, only speaking when necessary. There was no judgment in his gaze and Sam didn't know how to take that.

The guard was waiting for them on the ground. Sariel stalked the perimeter of the yard, her eyes always seeking potential threats through the trees. Dean broke off from the group to join her. Sam watched them pick back up their conversation from the previous day. It figured that the two members who were probably the most uncomfortable with the groups meeting were the ones who bonded first.

Nuriel stood with the red-headed angel by the firepit. _What is his name again? Zekiel?_ Sam had only heard it said once or twice, and for some reason it refused to stick in his brain.

"Okay kids, are we ready to try this again?" Gabriel asked by way of greeting. Everyone nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The archangel crouched down by Sam. "First-things-first, we need the guard to get a tiny feel of your grace. Just enough so they can recognize you if you make a break for Disney World mid-flight. Did you decide yet?"

Gabriel had explained it over breakfast. The guard would act like a barricade to keep them in the yard. And like search-and-rescue dogs, they needed to get his "scent" in case he went astray.

"Handshake?" Sam figured anything that didn't involve hands on his wings or fists through his chest would be fine. He'd said as much to Gabriel, not expecting the horrified look he got in response.

"It could be even smaller, if you wanted," Gabriel leaned forward to whisper. "You could just touch fingertips." He held up a finger at Sam in demonstration.

"What, like E.T.?" Sam scoffed, displaying his own unimpressive middle finger. "I think I'll stick to a normal handshake, thanks."

Gabriel barked a laugh and ruffled Sam's hair. "Heathen! Fine—handshakes it shall be." He gestured Nuriel over.

The Caretaker knelt next to them, not caring that she was staining her suit with dirt. "I've never gotten to shake hands with a fledgling before," she said, offering her hand to Sam.

Sam slowly took it, although they didn't really shake. She simply held his hand in a light grasp. A look of concentration came over her face, like she was listening to something no one else could hear. Her hand felt warm and far more solid than just flesh. She reminded him of Raphael.

"Well, I guess that would be hard if they don't have hands. What do angel kids even look like? Balls of light floating around? Do you have to, like, tether them together so one doesn't float away?" Sam heard himself rambling and looked at Gabriel, silently begging him for help.

"Like having a body will keep you grounded! I thought we'd need to tether you to us _before_ you sprouted wings." The archangel smirked. "Or have you forgotten the tree-incident?"

"One time, Gabe," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Sounds like there's a story there," Nuriel said, standing up to make way for the next seraph. "Your turn, Zadkiel."

 _That's his name!_ Sam thought in relief. It was awkward enough touching each person without the added pressure of one realizing he didn't remember their name.

The redhead took Nuriel's place kneeling on the grass. For a moment, he did nothing but look at Sam. There was a glint of awe in his eyes, but it was mixed with sadness. Sam wondered if this was how Harry Potter felt every time he met wizards who recognized him—if he were a real person and not a character.

"Hello, Sam," Zadkiel said and Sam was surprised by the softness of his voice. He'd grown used to the rumbling of Castiel and Raphael, and the booming power behind Gabriel. But Zadkiel was smooth, like the surface of undisturbed water.

"Hi." Sam thrust his hand out.

Zadkiel took his hand, covering it between both of his own. It was the exact same way Castiel had first taken his hand all those years ago. Sam held his breath, hoping this angel didn't subscribe to Heaven's early "Winchester propaganda."

The corner of Zadkiel's mouth twitched upward. "You are very strong."

"Um, thanks," Sam said awkwardly. He continued talking when it appeared Zadkiel was in no rush to let go. "So, what is it you do? Gabriel didn't mention a specific role." The only thing he remembered the archangel saying was that Zadkiel was younger and a nerd.

Zadkiel lifted his gaze to Sam's face. "I am the angel of mercy and compassion."

"Oh. Right." Sam nodded like he understood. He'd read about such titles for angels, but he'd never met one who actually held it. Mercy and compassion hadn't seemed very high on Heaven's list of priorities.

"I listen to prayers and try to direct them to the appropriate department. You might consider me a glorified office clerk here on Earth," Zadkiel explained, finally releasing Sam's hand.

"You would be no such thing," Raphael commented firmly, then turned to Sam. "There are very few angels of mercy and compassion left among the Host. And they are unique in their perception of humanity and emotion."

"He also falls under the category of 'Messenger' and no one in my department gets to call themselves a 'glorified office clerk.'" Gabriel pulled the seraph to his feet and landed a playful punch to his shoulder.

"Be nice," Sam said, kicking the archangel's shin. It felt good to finally land a hit without being impeded by blankets. "You can't punch people to make them feel better."

"I thought that was the Winchester way!" Gabriel made a show of rubbing his leg, but Sam knew it was all theatrics. Besides, he could barely bruise Dean anymore. "Sariel! Get over here before this gremlin goes for my kneecaps."

Sariel flew from across the yard, landing a few feet from Gabriel. The sound alone knocked Sam back and it was only Raphael's steadying hands that kept him from falling on his ass. He shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears.

"Sweet baby J, Sariel—I didn't mean literally!" Gabriel said, shaking his head.

Sariel blinked at him before shifting her stoic stare to Sam. Instead of the warmth and nervousness he'd seen in the other two seraphs, this one exuded intimidation and a cool lack of emotion. She studied him with an air of indifference.

Sam felt some of his tension ease. _This_ was at least familiar—more like all the other angels they'd dealt with through the years. He drew himself upright, pushing away from Raphael. Carefully blanking his face, he offered his hand.

He was not expecting to see a massive set of wings manifest over her shoulders as she slowly bowed her head in greeting. They were a deep burnt sienna with veins of crimson and amber and tipped with a white glow. She was breathtakingly fierce.

Sam openly gawked, his mouth dropping open in amazement. He heard Gabriel grumble about "traditionalist angels" being show-offs. But everything else around him faded away at the sight of her wings.

Sariel crouched down, moving with the power and grace of a wildcat. Her body remained ready to spring into action as she analyzed his hand. Finally, she pressed her palm to his without actually grasping it.

Sam wasn't prepared for the heat that emanated off her grace. It was like accidentally touching a car door that had sat in the sun for hours. His hand jerked back a few inches in surprise.

"Dial it back a bit, Sariel," Gabriel advised. "Don't pool all your grace on the surface—you want him to reach you, not you reach for him."

Sam didn't think he'd reached for any of them. He shook his hand and took a breath. When the sting went away, he very slowly returned his palm to her.

"My apologies," Sariel said in a flowing soprano voice. "I have never assisted with fledgling lessons before—I am not as skilled in subtle grace work like my companions. But I have tracked angels who have been banished. Do not fret. If you get lost, I will find you."

"Thanks. I think." Sweat built on Sam's palm. The heat no longer burned, but her grace was still sweltering. He hoped she finished before it became gross.

"Zadkiel is correct—you are very strong. Your grace has bite." Sariel moved fluidly to her feet. "I look forward to seeing you grow."

"Okay!" Gabriel took her by the shoulders and directed her back toward Dean. "Yes, thank you for making Castiel look like the poster child of social competence. Go take your place along the perimeter and keep Deano distracted for us."

Sam wiped his hand on his pants as he watched her walk away. She'd felt so much like Michael, only muted—a bonfire to the archangel's colossal wildfire. He was sweaty and cold at the same time now.

Gabriel crouched down, taking both of Sam's hands and cradling between his own. A warm breeze purged the lingering smell of smoke and balanced his body's internal debate about temperature. "How we doing?" he murmured.

Sam could only nod. It was easier to breathe but his throat felt parched. He jumped at the sudden sound of a snap and found thermos in front of his face.

The archangel opened the lid and Sam sniffed. Sweet-smelling steam tickled his face and nose. He sipped it, and sighed as warm tea with hints of chamomile and oranges washed away the remaining traces of fire and ice.

"Thanks. I'm good," Sam said, handing the thermos back half-drained.

Gabriel studied him for a second before reluctantly taking the tea and standing and addressing the guard. "So, we discussed it some this morning and decided that I'd be the one who takes Sam on his test-flights."

Nuriel's eyebrows went up and she looked at Castiel.

"I do not know if I can provide sufficient protection to his grace while still exposing him enough to learn from the experience." Castiel had been adamant—one of the archangels needed to take Sam.

"Cas just knows how sneaky you can be," Gabriel joked, sending Sam a wink that turned his stomach, "but I promise not to drop you!" He held out his arms and waited, a concerned look growing when Sam didn't move.

Why did it even matter if he read the damn book? He'd grown up sneaking into motel bathrooms to do his homework, forced to finish it in secret after his dad and brother had fallen asleep. Because it took time away from researching legends, learning to fight with weapons, and performing first aid on bleeding family members. Why shouldn't he learn how to protect himself in this new form?

"Sam? You okay, mini-moose?" Gabriel frowned.

Sam nodded, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes and mind. "Yup! Sorry, all that hot and cold and steam took a second to settle. I'm good!" He tried to grin and not confess on the spot.

Gabriel scooped Sam up and studied him close at eye-level. "You sure? You look…nervous."

"We've never been big fliers," Sam gulped.

"Well, you just relax. All we're gonna do is make a couple jumps around the yard and we'll talk between each one. No pranks or jokes—I won't do anything to surprise you." Gabriel sounded so earnest it hurt. "The whole point of this is for you to understand each step and what it feels like. If you have any questions, just ask. Okay?"

"Okay."

Gabriel nodded his head at the other angels and they all moved out toward the tree line. Mary smiled at them and gave a thumbs-up as she followed Zadkiel. Sam's hand gripped tighter to the archangel's jacket.

"Just breathe, Sammy. We aren't taking off, so go ahead and breathe." Gabriel held still as he spoke. He didn't sway or walk around, for which Sam was grateful.

He hadn't been nervous about the actual flying until that exact moment. His panic had stayed centered on the angel guard, but seeing Gabriel's wings glowing gold in the sunlight made his immediate situation very real. "I hope I don't puke," Sam blurted out.

Gabriel rested a hand on Sam's back, easing his nausea. "It's fine if you do—nothing a little snap won't fix."

"Awesome." He took a deep breath, relieved when his stomach stayed settled. "Okay, I'm good. I just got a little nervous there. It's silly. I mean, I've flown before!"

"Not with wings, you haven't," Gabriel said, understanding the problem. "It's different. Believe me—I know. And after a jump, you'll know it too."

"Different how?"

"It's kinda like riding a horse. You can look at a horse and watch someone else ride, but until you've gotten on the back of one yourself, you can't understand the muscles and movements needed to stay balanced."

"And flying before wasn't like riding a horse?" Sam asked.

"Nope—more like sitting in a wagon behind the horse. But with wings, you'll feel it on a whole-body level. Now, when I'm flying us, it'll be like riding behind me. You'll won't be steering, but you'll feel it. Does that make sense?"

Sam laughed. "After riding Morpheus around for a week or two, it definitely makes sense."

"I love it when a good analogy works out," Gabriel said as he checked to see that everybody was in place. "Alright, so for this first jump, I only want you to focus on how it feels. We're just going to go about ten feet to the right, okay?"

Sam wanted to burrow under the archangel's jacket. Some instinct in him screamed to flatten his wings, bind them in some way that doesn't leave them exposed, but he didn't have the control. Instead, he simply tightened his grip with hands and legs, and leaned in.

Gabriel wrapped an arm around his back, pulling him all the way against his chest. "It's okay to stay close. My grace will keep you from getting overwhelmed. Ready?"

"Do I have to keep my eyes open?" Sam almost yelled in his haste to ask.

A hand moved up to his head and encouraged Sam to press his face into his throat. "Nope. Close your eyes and just breathe. We'll go when you're ready."

Sam took a breath. Gabriel smelled like lavender and mint. The scent cooled his lungs and nerves. He nodded. "Ready."

He heard the roar of wings and wind, and clung to Gabriel as they started spinning, spiraling through something thinner than water but heavier than air. It moved _through_ his wings, reaching inside his grace in a way fingers never could. He felt it coat his entire being like Raphael's grace-wrap during healing, but this was not grace. This was something completely _other._

There was not way to tell how long it lasted. It couldn't be measured in breaths or heartbeats because neither existed in the _between_. But when it ended, Sam became extremely aware of both.

They landed and a world of sensation exploded around him. Sam gasped in air that tasted like wood smoke and dirt. Blood rushed through his ears, adding a steady rumble to the cacophony of birds and insects.

"Easy. Easy, now," a voice said, cutting through the commotion. "Take your time—I got ya. Don't open your eyes until you've got your other senses settled. There you go."

It took a few minutes before the world felt stationary again. Sam cautiously peeked out from Gabriel's shoulder and had to squint at the intense colors filling his vision. Eventually, the archangel's face swam into focus.

"Welcome back, Samshine!" Gabriel said with a bright smile.

Sam glanced around them. The world was encased in the hazy glow of auras. He rubbed at his eyes, but the effect remained. "Whoa," was all he could say.

"It's pretty impossible to describe using human metaphors, isn't it? It doesn't quite capture the experience." The light around Gabriel slowly dimmed as he spoke. "How are you doing?"

"Um, okay, I think."

"Thoughts? Opinions?"

"You're right. 'Horse riding' doesn't really do that justice. It's more like being shoved into the spin cycle of a washing machine…while falling from an airplane…through a tornado."

"Was it awful?" Concern radiated from Gabriel's entire being. "Do we need to take a break or get you a drink?"

"It was kinda awesome, actually," Sam said honestly.

He never saw himself as an "adrenaline junkie" like a lot of other hunters. A quiet evening with a good novel or movie was thrill enough. But once in a while, he'd get hit with the desire to find a theme park and ride a rollercoaster or go parasailing—something life-affirming and exciting.

Of course, it never happened. A case would pop up or they'd be nowhere near a park or ocean, and the urge would pass within a couple days. And they never went to things like that as kids.

"You…you liked it?" Gabriel's concern melted into bafflement.

"I think so," Sam grinned. He anticipated warming up to the activity. "I didn't have my eyes open, though. I may have a completely different opinion once I see it."

"You up for another jump?"

"Sure. Anything I should know about what I'll be seeing?" Sam had seen enough horrific visions to last even an angel's lifetime. But it meant his imagination was more advanced than most people. "Are there, like, giant creatures floating around in that place? Or crazy colors? Will it burn my eyes like chlorine in a pool?" He suddenly wished he had goggles.

"Again, it's hard to describe in human terms," Gabriel sighed. "There's no creatures—just the world around you, but it'll seem paused and like there's _more_. There will be colors you can't name and energies you didn't know existed. Your eyes might feel like you're looking into the wind, but it shouldn't hurt."

"Okay."

"You tell me when you're ready to go again."

Sam took a deep breath and rested his cheek on Gabriel's shirt. The arms around him tightened. "Ready."

The world shifted and froze as the rushing sound again filled Sam's ears. It was like they'd paused a video, blurring the image slightly. The color scheme flipped, casting the yard in crimson, violet, indigo, and another hue he'd never seen before.

The spinning sensation hit, completely contradicting the motionless picture around him. Then, he saw Gabriel's wings extended outward, lights _pulsing_ through the pathways of each "feather." It propelled them forward and Sam could feel the movement and knew it was right even though the scenery didn't match.

It was like strolling on a moving walkway, propelled faster by time itself. The stop was jarring—a sudden end of momentum met with the eruption of life at full-speed. The strange colors reverted to normal, although they retained their brightness. His hearing stayed more enhanced for a few minutes, and he focused on listening to Gabriel's heartbeat until the vibrancy died down.

"There we go—right back where we started." Gabriel rubbed Sam's back, helping to ground him in the physical. "How was that? Are you doing okay? Ready to puke?"

"Why do you have a heartbeat?" Sam had no filter to stop the words from tumbling past his lips. He'd gone from zero to strongest-hallucinogenic-drug-trip-ever to zero again in under what felt like a matter of seconds.

"To keep my vessel pink and life-like."

"I can hear you grinning."

"And I can hear you tripping." Gabriel pulled Sam back to see him better. "Are you tripping on time, Samuel Winchester? Because your brother will kill me if you start seeing vapor-trails."

Sam frowned. "Well, maybe you can slam _his_ brain into an alternate dimension for a minute and see how well he does."

"Oh, good. You're fine." Gabriel gave a heavy sigh of relief and clutched Sam close again. "I thought I'd addled you."

"I _am_ addled!"

"But no more than usual," Gabriel lightly teased. "So, what did you think this time?"

"It was…wild."

"Good wild or bad wild?"

"Not bad. But not great. Good-ish?" Sam had no way to express himself—no language to articulate how he felt or what he experienced.

"Alright! I'll take 'good-ish!'"

"I think I just need to get used to that…place. The colors and weird floaty movement, like we're sliding—it's pretty off-putting."

"Just remember—we all had to get used to it at some point. Learning to fly is sort of a rite of passage for angels. It's something we celebrate and get really excited about. But it takes time and a lot of effort for everyone, so we usually take it slow. You aren't training for a race here and there's no deadline. Okay?"

Sam frowned, grateful the archangel couldn't see his face against the jacket. There may not be a deadline but that was only because they didn't know when it would be needed. And it _would_ be needed—it was simply a matter of _when._

" _Okay?_ " Gabriel repeated.

"Okay," Sam finally answered.

They spent the next hour making small jumps around the yard. Each time, Sam grew aware of new details. Patterns in motion, color shifts, and changes in pitch always led to questions during their short breaks between flights.

Passing another angel always altered the flow of everything. And while they remained fixed in place, Sam swore he saw their eyes track his movement. It was more disturbing to see the lack of responsiveness in his mom and brother.

The first time he stood next to Gabriel, holding only his hand, something triggered in Sam's own wings. They lit up and _moved_ in an entirely new way, emulating the archangel. He felt like he was hanging on to a speedboat and kicking his legs.

"Look at you getting the hang of it!" Gabriel said gleefully when they landed. He'd immediately crouched down, steadying Sam and looking him over for any sign of discomfort.

"The only thing I had the 'hang of' was your hand," Sam said, still breathing hard. It was getting easier, but had been so much more intense! He hadn't realized how much Gabriel shielded him by carrying him through the flight.

"Nah, you did great! And I saw those little wings trying to keep up," Gabriel ruffled Sam's hair with brazen pride, "You're almost ready to try solo!"

"What?!" Sam ducked his head away from the hand and stared at Gabriel in horror.

"Not right this second," Gabriel assured. "And don't forget—you have four seraphs and two archangels to make sure you don't go astray."

"Yeah, but…" Sam bit his lip. This was what he wanted, right? He needed to learn as fast as possible—needed to prove himself capable. But even though he'd understood angel flight was nothing like birds, he hadn't known it would be like stepping into a dream world that bordered between surreal and a nightmare. The idea of entering it alone sent a thrill of terror through him.

"Hey," Gabriel said softly, his face suddenly much closer, "there's no rush here. No one will make you try until _you_ feel ready. I promise."

"Stop that!" Frustration spiked in Sam. He wasn't a child, damnit! When had the world turned upside down? Suddenly, John giving him a gun to protect himself from monsters seemed painfully _normal_ by comparison.

Gabriel pulled back, confusion vibrating through his aura. "Stop what?"

"Being so nice!" Sam squeezed his eyes shut. His emotions all floated on the surface, like an oil spill over water—ready to erupt with a single spark. Nothing wanted to stay settled and this last jump had stripped him raw.

"Okay, kiddo," Gabriel sighed.

Hands gripped under Sam's arms and lifted him. He tried to twist away but the hands pulled him closer, settling him against the familiar chest. He felt them start walking across the yard.

"Put me down!" Sam ordered, his voice muffled by the t-shirt.

"Hold on, we're almost there." Gabriel rubbed his back, ignoring Sam's demands and flailing feet. "I think it's time for a long break."

"I don't need a break." Sam's throat burned, and he pushed his face into the fabric. He felt himself losing control and he hated it.

"We all need a break, Sam. It's okay." Gabriel walked faster.

Sam heard footsteps running toward them and wished he could disappear.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked just seconds before Dean.

"Nothing's wrong. That last jump was just a little too much, I think, and now we need a break." Gabriel shifted Sam around in his arms.

Sam fought back, tightening his grip on the jacket. He wasn't sure if he wanted to burrow into the archangel or run and find a hiding place. Part of him was still spiraling, untethered from reality, and it was terrifying.

Gabriel made hushing noises in his ear. "It's okay, Sam. You're gonna sit with Cassie, alright? He's gonna crank that petrichor up to an eleven until you catch your breath. Here we go."

A strong arm wrapped around Sam's waist.

"I can walk!" he yelled.

"Are you certain?" Castiel gave a low laugh—a rumble Sam felt through his back.

"Yes!"

Gabriel's hands fell away and Castiel lowered him down. The ground was a shock against his feet. The arm let him go and Sam's knees gave out. His limbs flailed and found Castiel only inches away.

"Sam?" Castiel said, holding him steady. Sam grunted. "You need to open your eyes."

Heat swept across his skin and Sam knew he'd be red enough to appear sunburned. He'd forgotten about sight. How could he _not remember_ an entire sense?

Sam blinked carefully, anticipating the harsh sunlight in his eyes. Instead, he found Castiel's face filled his vision. When had he moved?

As his eyes and brain focused, the spinning died down. Each breath brought him closer to the Earth and his own body. After a minute, he nodded to Castiel.

"Do you still wish to walk?"

"I…" Sam shifted his weight between feet. They shook with the effort of standing. "Not really."

Castiel looked relieved and picked him back up. The smell of rain filled Sam's lungs. It washed away the sharp edges of tension.

Panic faded, making space for mortification. Why had he said _any_ of those things to Gabriel? Who tells someone to stop being nice? No wonder he'd been given to Castiel—the archangel probably needed a break too.

"What's got him so worked up?" Dean's worried voice came beside Castiel's shoulder.

"I believe the answer is 'everything,'" Castiel whispered.

Sam groaned. It wasn't a lie.

* * *

Gabriel stood beside Nuriel as they watched Castiel carry Sam toward the fire, Dean hot on their heels.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I'm not sure." He'd run through the entire sequence of events several times, combing through the details to find what had triggered the boy. "Best as I can tell, he got overwhelmed on that last jump."

Nuriel nodded. "He was much more exposed that time. And did I see his wings try to fly with you?"

"Yup."

"But that is not what has you worried," she observed.

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. "There's something else going on with him. I just…don't know what it is yet."

"Something new?"

"I think so."

"The good thing about such young grace," Nuriel said, leaning against him, "is that it can never keep secrets. It will always tell you what's wrong in the end."

"Yeah, but that's before a _Winchester_ had grace!" Gabriel gave an empty laugh. "If anyone could outsmart the system, it would one of them."

Nuriel grabbed his elbow, turning him to face her. She smiled and slowly shook her head. "He may try to conceal the problem. He may try to bury it out of sight. He may even try to deny it exists to himself. But his grace cannot, will not, allow it forever. You just have to pay attention."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
** HOLY HELL, HOW DID THIS CHAPTER REACH OVER 11K!?  
Thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews! Your words are food for my soul!

Come be my friend on Tumblr!  
Personal blog: theriverscribe  
Sideblog: spn-bythegraceofgod


	38. Teach Your Children pt9

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
Part 9: Teach Your Parents Well**

 **TRIGGER WARNINGS:** **anxiety attacks, VERY brief and vague mentions of spanking, and INTENSE EMOTIONAL SCENES.  
There's not a whole lotta fluffs in this chapter, but I promise to make it up to you (there are, like, 2-3 chapters of PURE FLUFF planned...I SWEAR)! I just wanted to give y'all a heads up here. This chapter came in at just under 13k, and only about 500 of that is fluff. **

* * *

Gabriel fiddled nervously with his jacket on the bunker's lawn. Double checked to make sure his messenger bag holding the laptop was secure. Ran his fingers through his hair. Re-fiddled with his jacket.

"Stop that," Raphael tutted, knocking his hands away and fixing Gabriel's collar. "You are fine."

"Says you," Gabriel mumbled. "You've been back several times. And you didn't leave for several centuries."

"I may as well have left—for all the good I did. Now," Raphael ruffled Gabriel's hair, "are you ready?"

"No," Gabriel pouted, "but let's go. If we waited till I was ready, we'd never leave."

"Come on, brother." Raphael grinned. "There are many seraphs who have been celebrating your return and are eager to see you again."

"Better late than never, I suppose," Gabriel sighed, then spread his wings and flew home.

They landed in Heart Hall—a place filled with fond memories of song and dance and love.

Gabriel gasped to see it now. The once opulent hall had crumbled into ruins. Several towering pillars laid broken across the floor. Intricate carvings of art and verse were coated in dust and soot from battles he had not been there to fight.

His gaze drifted from the walls to the faces that filled the room. The seraphs had fallen silent in surprise and awe when they'd entered. Gabriel's grace churned when he realized they were _all_ in vessels and that most of their wings were in tatters.

He didn't have long to lament. Within seconds, an almighty cheer rose through the Host, echoing across Heaven as word spread. _**The Messenger has returned! Gabriel! Gabriel is here!**_

"Hey kids!" Gabriel said with a soft smile, trying not to wince at the rising volume of yelling over angel radio. " **Miss me?** "

The seraphs rushed forward, many with tears in their eyes. Gabriel's arms instantly came up, embracing as many as possible. He felt their excitement and pain as his own. Raphael's hand on his back offered calm strength and kept him from being overwhelmed by their siblings' emotions.

" **What is this I hear?** " A soft voice rose above all the others and the seraphs fell silent once again, though their joy remained as they turned to face the newcomer. " **Could it be that my baby brother has returned to grace me with his presence?** "

Gabriel raced through the Hall and launched himself at Michael. The Commander caught him easily, spinning around once from the force of his momentum. Laughter filled the Hall. Gabriel's alone was louder than the rest of the seraphs combined.

" **Hello, Gabriel,** " Michael whispered, holding him tight. " **It is good to have you in Heaven once again.** "

" **It is good to be back—which are words I never thought I would say.** " Gabriel laughed and wiped his tears against Michael's shirt. " **I was not sure I would be welcome.** "

" **Always.** " Michael pulled back to grasp Gabriel's face with both hands and touched their foreheads together. " **You always have and always will be welcome here. Heaven is your home and we are your family—no matter how many other homes and families you gather along the way.** "

Raphael waded through their siblings to reach them. " **Shall we?** " He gestured toward the door.

Gabriel nodded and adjusted his bag. As much as he wanted to greet every single member of the Host, he simply did not have the time for it tonight. He turned to the Hall and waved. " **I promise to say goodnight before I leave! Everyone, behave. Do not do anything I would not!** "

Raphael snorted. " **And what exactly is it that makes the list of 'things you would not do?'** "

" **Nothing,** " Gabriel whispered with a grin.

He followed the older archangels through the door and down a hallway. These had been bustling corridors of activity when Gabriel had last been here, although they'd looked very different. Apparently, Heaven had modernized—everything had a sleek, minimalist look to it.

One room had two guards stationed on either side of the entrance. They nodded to Michael as he unlocked the door and entered. Gabriel froze when he saw the inside.

The walls were covered. Photographs, maps, blueprints—all with copious notes detailing names, dates, places, and routines. The tables held piles of papers and books. A radio sat to the side where a seraph listened to a stream of reports coming through from angels in the field.

" **Someone has been very busy,** " Gabriel said, giving a low whistle.

" **You thought we would bide our time?** " Michael asked as he walked around the central table. " **I have agents monitoring every member of the Men of Letters—in every country the organization is currently active. So far, only the British members are engaged in practices we deem unacceptable.** "

" **You may not even need my intel for this,** " Gabriel mused. He looked at all the faces on the wall and wondered which ones had participated in hurting their sibling and Sam. They were all guilty in his book but he wanted to know who carried the _most_ guilt.

" **Oh, no. We definitely need your help.** **We are unable to infiltrate the inside of their facility.** " Michael grinned, slow and dangerous. " **Or we could, but it would not be by stealth.** "

" **I believe I can help with that. Although, this may be difficult—human technology does not always work amid so much grace.** " Gabriel set the laptop on the table and pulled out a thick stack of paper. " **Good thing I printed out all the important information.** "

" **Excellent. And I have found a solution to the grace interference.** " Michael tapped the seraph who sat by the radio. " **Can you please ask Ash to join us?** "

" **You are working with humans now, Michael? Excellent.** " Gabriel grinned at the prospect.

" **They are quickly becoming indispensable to our efforts to rebuild. I do not know how, but they have learned to manipulate grace all on their own. I need to give you a tour of the communities they have created.** "

" **I would like that,** " Gabriel sorted through his papers, laying them out in various piles, " **but not on this visit. I need to return before everyone wakes.** "

" **How is Samuel?** " Michael asked. Gabriel hesitated and the Commander frowned. " **Not well? Do you have need of any resources? We can certainly spare more Caretakers. Or Architects—do you need better facilities on Earth?** "

Gabriel huffed a breath and held up a hand, halting his brother's worried tirade. " **More angels in the mix will not help. Samuel barely spoke to anyone in the week preceding his first time meeting the guard. It ended up going well, considering, but it was a great stress to him. And he is still adjusting to their presence.** "

" **Then what worries you, brother?** " Michael glanced at Raphael for assistance, but the Healer looked just as concerned.

" **We do not know—that is the problem,** " Raphael answered.

" **It may be nothing,** " Gabriel said, " **or it may be everything. Samuel has been acting odd, like he is hiding something.** "

Michael's mouth twisted, fighting a grin. " **A fledgling who manages to keep secrets from two archangels, four seraphs, and two humans. I can see why you are concerned.** "

Gabriel smacked him in the arm. " **You are not helping.** "

" **My apologies.** " Michael rubbed his arm and moved out of reach. " **And how goes his training? Sariel reports he has begun to learn flight.** "

" **He will be trying his first solo flight tomorrow!** " Gabriel felt he might burst with pride. Heaven help him if he started carrying pictures of Sam in a wallet—he'd be compelled to show every angel, creature, and person he met.

" **So soon?** " Michael gasped.

" **What can I say? The boy is a natural. His grace work is exceptional, he is practically fearless when trying new things, and you should see him read. I think he has almost finished the books Raphael brought him in less than three weeks!** "

Raphael nodded. " **Although, I have been informed by Nuriel that my selection was highly inappropriate for Samuel's age and knowledge.** "

The door opened, admitting a human Gabriel had never met. "Howdy, boss man! I heard you needed my assistance. What can I do for the big burrito today?"

Gabriel was glad he wasn't drinking anything—he would have spewed it everywhere. "Do you even _know_ what a 'burrito' is, Mickey?"

"Yes, I do. Ash, allow me to introduce my younger brother, Gabriel."

"Younger, cooler, more awesome brother." Gabriel winked.

Michael ignored him and ushered the man into a seat, sliding the laptop closer. "This is what I need assistance with today. Can you make this work in Heaven?"

Ash pulled out a marker and began drawing sigils across the closed lid. Tiny characters, mostly Enochian, rapidly covered every free inch. When he finished, he opened the screen and turned it on. "Presto, mis amigos!" Ash said with a flourish as the log-in screen appeared. "You'll have no problem with power either. I've made it so the battery draws juice from Heaven itself."

"Nice!" Gabriel said, impressed. He'd heard stories from the Winchesters about the genius of their friend, but this was beyond his expectations. "Mickey definitely needs to give you a raise."

Michael stared at the screen blankly. "I do not know what to look for—where do I begin?"

Gabriel grimaced. "We'll let Ash navigate through their systems for you. I'm sure he'll find even more than I did—and I found a _lot._ But this might be a good place to start." He reached over Ash's shoulder and brought up the video file of Sam's captivity. "I'm either gonna have to speed this up or come back when it's finished. There's about twenty-four hours' worth of footage here."

Ash pushed away from the table. "I don't need to watch my man get hurt. I already heard it when his screamed rocked through Heaven and that was _way_ more than enough. Y'all have at it and call me back when you need me to sort through their server."

Michael's focus stayed fixed on the screen, not even noticing Ash's departure. Gabriel had forwarded the footage to when Sam first appeared and the Commander was shaking with rage already. With a few clicks to adjust playback settings, he started the video.

By the time it finished, Michael's eyes danced red-gold with righteous fury.

* * *

Sam ached _everywhere._ It had been almost a week since he'd started flying. He'd spent the whole weekend flying alongside Gabriel before attempting his first solo flight that Monday. It was an experience he'd never forget.

"You sure about this, Sammy?" Gabriel asked, kneeling down in front of him.

"It's 'Sam.' And yes, for the seventh time, I am sure." Sam tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

The task was becoming increasingly difficult. Every time one of the angels asked if he was okay or certain about something, he felt annoyed. It built like pressure under his skin and he worried it might make him explode.

Gabriel nodded, clearly not convinced. He shuffled backwards awkwardly on his knees until there was about three feet of space separating them. Then, he put his arms out. "Okay, _Sam_. Come at me!"

"You've got to be kidding," Sam blurted out. It was like he was an infant taking his first steps.

"What?" Gabriel frowned, looking around without dropping his arms. "Too far?"

 _Oh my God—he's serious,_ Sam thought, shaking his head. "Too close."

"Why don't you try it first. It's gonna feel a lot farther without me helping—believe me."

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He found it easier to feel the other angels' grace when he didn't look at them. Slowly, he reached out toward the warm current that sat so close.

Several minutes passed without any change. He pushed hard, trying to get closer—kept pushing until he felt his wings activate. The world started spinning and he opened his eyes.

He wanted to gasp, but there was no air _in between_ time and space. Gabriel was there, just out of reach—a motionless statue except for the spark of perception in his eyes. Six golden wings remained suspended around them like a cage of light, ready to keep Sam from flying in the wrong direction.

Sam turned his head and saw Castiel standing several feet behind him. The guard and Raphael were spaced throughout the yard, prepared to move if needed. He looked at Gabriel again and tried to push forward.

Nothing happened.

His wings felt like they were on fire from the effort. Time had no meaning here—no breaths or heartbeats to count it passing. He tried to take a physical step but his body didn't respond.

Panic set in. Sam couldn't reach Gabriel, couldn't move his body, couldn't remember how to get out of this place. He wondered if angels had ever died while _between_.

He didn't see Gabriel move—the world just suddenly appeared as the archangel's arms wrapped around him. Sam gasped, bursting into a flurry of motion now that the universe was unfrozen. The arms around him tightened, grounding him in reality.

"Okay. Okay. You're alright. Here, let's sit down. You're okay, I promise." Gabriel's voice was a steady stream of reassurances as he pulled Sam onto the grass with him.

Sam turned and laid face down in the dirt. He wanted to hug the whole Earth at once and never move again. Who needed to fly anyway? He didn't even leave the bunker to go grocery shopping.

Gabriel sprawled out too, keeping his hand on Sam's back. "You doing okay?"

"No," Sam grumbled into the grass.

"Still think I was too close?"

"I hate you."

Gabriel laughed. "Don't worry. You'll get it. It just takes time." His hand ran over Sam's wings, trying to soothe.

Pain erupted at the touch and Sam made an effort to roll away. His grace shuddered from his wings to his core. He grabbed a handful of grass and got his knees under him, desperate for distance.

"No, no, no—don't do that. Hold on, Raphael's coming." Gabriel's hand shifted to Sam's shoulder. It only slightly helped.

Footsteps pounded across the yard toward them. Sam groaned and swallowed back the lunch that was threatening to reappear. He heard voices blend together above him but they were just noise until one drew closer.

"Let me see," Raphael said in a calm rumble.

Gabriel stood as the Healer's grace, heavy and warm, poured over Sam like a blanket. The pain drained away, leaving only a dull ache. Sam sighed in relief, his muscles melting into mud.

"How is he, Raphael?" Nuriel asked.

"He strained his grace, but he is unharmed." Raphael tilted Sam's face toward him and brushed the hair from his eyes. "Can you look at me, Samuel?"

"No." Sam didn't want to open his eyes. It required movement.

A deep chuckle rolled over him. "That is fine. Let's get you to a better place to lay down—somewhere warm and soft. I doubt the ground will remain comfortable for long."

Gentle hands lifted him up and settled him against a broad chest. Sam debated protesting, but Raphael was warm and just as solid as the Earth. Besides, moaning also took energy. He fell asleep on a pile of pillows by the fire while Raphael massaged away the worst of the soreness.

That had been Monday.

He hadn't managed to move through the _between_ place and make it to Gabriel until Tuesday. They'd celebrated that night—after Sam had collapsed and slept hard for several hours. Dean grilled barbecue chicken and they played card games all evening.

By Thursday, the ache was a constant presence. They practiced flying each day in short spurts and Sam slowly improved. But it also meant exercising a part of himself that had never been used before. He hadn't been this sore since he'd started running as a four-year-old.

Raphael's grace massages were almost worth the pain of flying. Not that Sam had anything to compare it to, but he was pretty sure the Healer of Heaven gave the _best_ massages. They always left his skin tingling and his mind floating.

Sam grinned at the memory as he closed the bathroom door and locked it. Getting alone time in the bunker was nearly impossible anymore—not with angels, humans, and a shapeshifting canine constantly watching him. Luckily, his privacy was respected during "bath time."

He set the bundle of clothes down, carefully unfolding them until he got to the book. His stomach twisted at the sight, ruining his earlier joy. How could such a small thing cause so much guilt?

Sam sat down to review while the bath water filled. He couldn't afford to waste a precious minute on debating the ethics of his decision—not when time was this limited. The others would be knocking at the door if he took longer than an hour.

This might be his only chance to try. Gabriel had gone with Raphael to visit Heaven—his second time that week. Sam couldn't deny the archangel his excitement, but it served to cement his own plan even more.

One day, Gabriel would leave. Dean and Mary would pass away, hopefully of old age. Castiel would probably go with Dean's soul to Heaven or rejoin the Host's ranks. Sam accepted this. He just needed to be prepared.

The water finished filling the tub and he climbed in. It was weird taking baths again—especially now that bathtubs felt like the size of swimming pools. His favorite part about having privacy now, though, was being able to make the water as hot as he wanted.

Sam stared at his hands. Until reading the book, he'd always assumed that angel blades were made by some smithy in Heaven and that angels kept them stored in some sort of grace-pocket. But it clearly stated that they were energy formed into matter—it just seemed to lack certain steps. He'd have to improvise to fill in the blanks.

He pooled grace into his hands and visualized an angel blade—focused on the color and texture and weight. Energy prickled down his arms, making his palms itch. The sensation built and he tried to push it into the shape of a blade.

Sam gasped as a spark flew off his hand. He shoved his arms below the water, trying to put it out. The hot water exploded around him, drenching the walls and sloshing into the floor.

He sputtered and coughed, momentarily blinded by water in his eyes. _Shit, shit, shit!_ he thought once he got a look at the bathroom. A sharp pain made him yank his hands out of the bath to reveal a half-dollar sized burn on each palm.

 _SHIT!_ There was no chance he'd be able to hide them.

The doorknob jangled and then someone knocked hard enough to shake the frame.

"Sammy?!" Dean bellowed from the other side. "Sammy, talk to me! You okay?"

"I'm fine!" Sam yelled back. "I…uh…dropped the shampoo!"

The pounding stopped. "You _what?!_ Dude, it echoed through the bunker. It _shook_ the walls! I'm coming in."

"Wait! Give me a sec to grab a towel."

Sam heard the tell-tale sounds of lockpicks being used his eyes went straight to the book sitting on top of his clothes. He practically threw himself over the edge of the tub, careful not to use his hands or slip in the inch of water on the floor. He managed to throw the book in the cabinet under the sink and grab a towel when the door slammed open.

"Dean!" he screamed, wrapping the towel around himself.

But Dean wasn't looking at him. His gaze moved around the room slowly, taking in the dripping ceiling and flooded floor. "Shampoo bottle, my ass!" His eyes narrowed on Sam. "What the hell, dude?"

Holding the towel carefully between his fingers, Sam held his other hand without thinking. "Now, Dean, I can explain…"

Dean charged into the room, heedless of the water, and grabbed Sam's wrist. "Explain? Explain this!" He turned it so the palm faced up.

"I…" Sam swallowed, then heard the pounding of feet echo through the halls.

Mary, Castiel, and Morpheus slid into view, their eyes going wide as they took in the state of the bathroom.

"Cas, get over here," Dean barked.

"What happened?" Mary asked breathlessly.

"Guys!" Sam heard his own voice squeak. "I'm naked!"

"Then wear clothes next time you decide to blow up the bathroom," Dean growled, completely unmoved. "Cas, look at his hand."

Castiel gently took hold of Sam's wrist and frowned. "This is a grace burn."

"I-I was just," Sam scrambled for a plausible explanation, "practicing the ball of light trick. And it…went wrong."

One of Castiel's eyebrows lifted as his gaze travelled to Sam's other hand. "Dean, please hold your brother's towel in place."

Dean knelt down and grabbed the towel as Castiel gestured for Sam to show his other hand. Morpheus nosed his way next to them, demanding access to his charge. Reluctantly, Sam did as he was asked and revealed the other matching burn. Dean swore, loudly.

Castiel studied the burns in silence. Sam wanted to crawl back inside the bathtub and slither down the drain. He watched Mary make her way over to the bathtub and pull the drain. She kept shooting worried glances at him and he had to look away.

Finally, Castiel spoke. "I believe Raphael should look at these. I do not have much experience healing injuries from grace. And since you were trying to use yours, it may be prudent he examines them first," he met Sam's eyes, "to see what went wrong."

Sam gulped—he was so screwed.

"Dean, you should put some burn cream on those until Raphael returns," Mary said, grabbing armloads of towels from a shelf. "I'll clean up in here."

Castiel held Sam's hands for a second longer, searching his gaze. Then the seraph released him. Sam held the towel and tried to calm his heart as it crashed against his chest.

Dean stood, scowling at his soaked jeans. "Come on. First aid kit's in the kitchen."

Sam glanced back at the cabinet under the sink as they walked out.

* * *

Dean put the first aid kit back in the kitchen and leaned against the counter with his eyes closed. Something was wrong with Sam—and not just the fact that he'd injured himself. Every single Big Brother alarm had been going off for days now, growing louder with each suspicious incident.

He wanted to blame the angel guard. It would make things so much easier. But the fact remained that Sam's behavior had changed before then. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, but he'd narrowed it down. Something had changed between when Raphael had first returned to Heaven and Thanksgiving.

"Dean." Castiel's voice drew him from his musings.

He turned around and saw the seraph frowning in the doorway. "What's up, Cas?"

Castiel's frown deepened in thought. "I am…concerned."

Dean snorted. "Join the club."

There was a time when Castiel would have asked what club he needed to join. Dean missed those days. Instead, the angel just nodded and walked to stand next to him.

"I do not believe Sam injured himself how he described."

Dean straightened up. "You think he's lying?" He'd suspected that there was more to the story.

"He is either lying or not telling the whole story."

"Oh, Sammy," Dean sighed, "I thought we were past this."

Castiel shot him a sharp glare. "You both lie constantly—to law enforcement, to witnesses, to each other. This is not a new behavior."

"Hey, now. We may lie on the job…or _did_ lie on the job when we still had one. But that is not the same as lying to each other—which we haven't done in a while. I think." Dean tried to remember the last time he'd lied to Sam about something big.

"You lied to him at breakfast when you said you were out of strawberries because you wanted him to eat more eggs and bacon."

"Well…yeah. But I'm talking about important lies, Cas. Not stupid little white lies." Besides, he'd piled strawberries on the kid's plate _while saying it_. That didn't count.

"All I know is that he did not get those burns from creating grace light."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "How? I mean, he blew out the lights in the bunker the first time he made them."

"Yes—because his energy surged outward. But this is different." Castiel huffed in frustration. "Even if he'd kept the grace in his palms when it 'blew,' it would not have burned him like that. It is difficult to explain. The grace used for that exercise is minimal—it is about control. To make those burns, he would have been amassing a much larger amount."

Dean went to the fridge and got a beer. This whole situation called for alcohol. "Where's Sammy now?"

"He is watching a movie with Mary and Morpheus. I believe it is _Lord of the Rings._ "

"Good. That'll keep him occupied for a while." He popped the lid off the bottle and took a swig. "When will the archangels get back?"

Castiel's head tilted and his eyes grew distant as he consulted with his brothers. "Soon."

"Not soon enough." Dean grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. "Come on. May as well watch some Hobbits while we wait."

The archangels arrived just as Dean was changing out the discs halfway through the movie. Sam was mostly asleep against Mary, his little bandaged hands cradled to his chest. Gabriel and Raphael's eyes both went wide at the sight and their heads turned at once to Dean for explanations.

Dean pressed play on the DVD and motioned them into the hallway. Castiel followed on his heels as Mary took sole custody of "Sammy Watching." They closed the door partway as Aragorn's voice drifted through the speakers.

"What happened?" Gabriel hissed quietly. "We were only gone a few hours. Why didn't you pray to us?"

Dean shrugged and looked at Castiel, feeling helpless with his lack of understanding.

"We are not entirely sure what occurred. Sam was very…vague on the details."

"No, he's not being vague. He's lying," Dean clarified. Anger and fear battled it out in his chest at the memory of feeling the bunker shudder.

Castiel nodded, sad and slow, and explained what had happened from their perspective. The archangels listened, concern growing with every word. Dean wasn't used to others getting as worked up over his brother's wellbeing—it was an oddly satisfying experience, if a little disconcerting.

"You're telling me Sam blew up his bath and tried to blame it on grace-light?" Gabriel asked in bewilderment.

"And that's not possible…because those balls of light take less energy?" Dean still didn't understand it all, but he was trying. Plus, "things that blow-up" all registered the same in his book.

"It is also a matter of frequency and vibrations, but yes—it takes a much greater amount of energy to affect water in the way you described. Especially if they resulted in burns. I must see his hands." Raphael led them back into the media room and sat on an ottoman in front of Sam.

Morpheus' head rose up from where he sat, snuggled into Sam's side. He glanced at the newcomers and nodded. Dean thought the canine looked relieved—the little furball had been plastered to Sam since the bathroom.

The kid woke with a start when the Healer gently drew his hands away from his chest. Hazel eyes, unfocused from sleep, blinked once before flying wide open at the sight of Raphael. Sam sat up, instinctively trying to pull his arms back but the Healer held firm.

"I heard you had an adventurous bath," Raphael said calmly as he began unwrapping one hand. He smiled, trying to put Sam at ease but the kid was too nervous. Dean sat next to him on the couch when hovering didn't give him a clear enough view. Morpheus squirmed so he was more on Sam's lap instead of being smooshed into the cushion.

Gabriel moved to stand over the Healer's shoulder, watching as Sam's palms were slowly revealed. There were several winces when the final piece of gauze was removed to reveal blistered skin. "That looks painful, kiddo."

Sam shrugged, his expression going stoic. Dean saw through it, more fluent in "Sammy" than in English. The kid's body language screamed, "guilty and trying to hide it."

Raphael hummed to himself as he examined the burn closely. "What were you trying to do exactly?"

"I was practicing the light-ball," Sam said, keeping his eyes on their hands, "and experimenting with it."

"In what way?" Raphael pushed the kid's sleeve up and looked at his wrist and arm.

"Just…playing with intensity. Seeing if I could make one in each hand."

Dean saw Castiel and Gabriel exchange looks. Not for the first time, he wished he could see Sammy's wings. He didn't _need_ to see them to read his brother, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to have a whole other aspect of insight.

"And did you?" The Healer reached for the other hand and started removing the wrap.

"Did I what?"

"Create two balls of light?"

Sam took too long thinking about it. "Yeah. I think so. I kinda had my eyes closed."

Frustration built as Dean waited for _someone_ to confront Sam on his obvious lies. Why were they all acting so casually about this? Why the delay?

"And how intense were you trying to make it?" Raphael's voice rumbled smoothly.

Sam shrugged again, curling in tighter on the couch.

Dean debated shifting back a little in his seat—the poor kid was wedged between him and their mom with two archangels towering above. Only Castiel hung back, content to watch from the doorway. He gave up on moving when he saw the right palm's burn was even worse than the first. It had been bad when he'd bandaged it but it seemed to have spread some since then.

"Close your eyes," Gabriel said.

"What?" Sam asked, his eyes doing the opposite.

Gabriel grinned and snapped the lights low, turning off the television as well. "Close your eyes and tell me when the light gets as intense as you remember. You know—through your eyelids." Sam gulped and shut his eyes. Gabriel leaned over Raphael's shoulder and reached a glowing palm toward the kid. "I'm gonna keep making it brighter till you tell me to stop."

The ball of light shone gold and white. It started as a soft radiance but gradually increased until Dean could clearly make out the movement of energy within. The room soon became brighter than ever and he had to look away.

"Yeah. Stop." Sam said in a small voice.

"Hmm," Gabriel mused. He waved his hand and the blinding light disappeared. Another snap brought the room's lights and television back on. "That's pretty intense, Samshine. I think you've officially earned that nickname!"

Dean glared at him, trying to convey as much "what the fuck?" as he could with eyes alone. He refrained from growling in exasperation when Gabriel just shook his head—angels either had more patience or a better plan than him. And he wished they'd share some of either with him.

"I can heal these—but no more experimenting without an angel's supervision. We do not want your mother or brother caught in an accidental grace explosion. Agreed?" Raphael leaned closer toward Sam.

"Agreed," Sam answered quickly. Dean saw fear flicker across the kid's face as he glanced at their mom. He wondered if Sam feared being caught or if he'd scared himself doing whatever fool-thing that had burned him.

Raphael smiled and held Sam's palms easily between his own. A glimmer of light shone briefly from where their hands met, and then it was gone. When the Healer sat back, the burned skin was once again pink and unblemished.

Dean felt something relax in his chest. Of course, it wouldn't last—the Winchesters just weren't that lucky. He just needed to discover the source of Sam's lie before something worse than bathwater exploded.

* * *

Everyone had been watching him since Thursday night. Sam felt their gazes follow him whether he was practicing flight in the yard or eating breakfast. Even Morpheus stayed closer, following him to the bathroom and waiting in the hallway until he finished his business. He'd had to sneak the book back to his room by smuggling it into his hoodie and hiding it once the canine started snoring.

Dean was the worst. He _knew_ Sam was lying. His eyes screamed silent accusations whenever they saw each other.

It was a familiar dance to new music. They had kept enough secrets through the years to recognize when it started again. But Sam was not used to Dean remaining quiet. If he knew something, there was a guaranteed fight on the horizon.

By Saturday, Sam felt like he was losing his mind. Paranoia made him jumpy. He snapped at everyone, teetering between guilt and anger from moment to moment.

He knew he was out of control when he yelled at Mary. She'd playfully ruffled his hair at lunch, cooing about how well he'd done with flying that morning. Irritation, so strong that it physically hurt his chest, surged through him.

"Stop fucking touching me!" he screamed. He heard the hysteria in his own voice and wished he could stop his words even as they poured from his mouth. "Stop treating me like a child! I get it—I'm small and my hair is curly and you think I'm fucking cute! But fucking _stop!_ "

Mary snatched her hand away like he'd burned her, cheeks blazing and unable to respond.

Dean stood, knocking his chair back several inches. "Knock it off, Sam! Absolutely _no one_ thinks your fucking cute. You've been an ugly little shit for days and I'm sick of it."

Sam scrambled down from his chair and stormed toward the hall. His whole body shook with adrenaline and rage and shame. The sound of a fist slamming the tabletop stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean barked.

"Away!" Sam yelled without turning around.

"Don't you _dare_ walk outta this room without apologizing to Mom!"

Sam pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to regain control. The silence behind him was like a physical presence. He couldn't look at them—couldn't face their hurt and disappointment. "Sorry, Mom."

"It's okay," she said. Sam hated himself for causing the sadness in her voice.

"It's _not fucking_ okay," Dean said before Sam could respond. "I'm tired of this attitude. For someone so worried about being rude to strangers, you sure have no problem being nasty to your own family!"

"Enough, Dean," Mary cut in.

"Enough?" Dean barked an angry laugh. "Are you kidding me? You should bust his butt for talking to you that way!"

Bile burned Sam's esophagus. Dean was right—their Dad certainly would never have tolerated his behavior the last few days. Their Mom had every right to…

"I will do no such thing!" Mary said firmly, anger finally filtering into her voice. "John may have used violence to enforce his rules, but I am _not_ your father. I do not need you intervening on my behalf, thank you very much."

Sam ran. He couldn't listen to them argue anymore. This was his fault and he didn't know how to fix any of it.

The clicking of nails against the floor followed him down the hall. Morpheus caught up to him by the time he reached his room. The canine waited patiently, nuzzling at his neck while Sam fought with the doorknob.

 _Just breathe, pup. No one else is coming._

Sam tried to obey, but his lungs didn't get the memo. Everything was too tight—his chest, his throat, his skin. He couldn't relax enough to draw breath until he made it safely inside his room and locked the door behind them. Then, he gulped air like a drowning man. The rush of oxygen left him dizzy.

He threw himself onto the bed. What was happening to him? He'd never felt so helter-skelter, like his own mind and emotions were revolting against him. They spun him around worse than flying _between_.

Morpheus shifted down and leapt onto the bed. _Talk to me, Sam. What is going on?_

"I don't know," Sam groaned into his pillow, then turned his head to find the tiny white face only an inch away. "I feel like I'm going crazy. Again."

 _In what way?_

"I…it's hard to explain."

 _Try, please?_

Sam rolled onto his back and watched the ceiling fan slowly rotate. It usually calmed him. "It's like there's this storm under my skin that just keeps building and building but has no where to go. I'm so angry all the time—for no reason. And it hurts! It makes me want to punch things or hit my head against a wall, just to relieve the pressure."

 _I am sorry._ Morpheus nosed into Sam's hair, curling up against his neck and shoulder. _Will you talk to one of the angels about it? It may be a grace-thing._

"I can't! It…it gets worse around them. Like something is trying to claw its way out of my chest." Sam rubbed at his sternum, hoping to ease the sensation.

Someone knocked on his door. Sam closed his eyes, wanting them to just go away. A second knock made that dream vanish.

"Sam? Can I come in?" Mary's voice was muffled by the door.

He wiped his face before rolling off the bed and unlocking the door. She smiled softly as she wrung her hands. Her nervousness made him feel even worse.

Sam moved aside and let her enter. "I really am sorry," he said quietly.

She sighed, nodding as she sat at his desk. "I know, Sammy. And I forgive you. This has been hard for all of us."

"It doesn't excuse what I said." Sam looked down at his own hands.

"Maybe not, but I can understand your frustration. I mean, I can't imagine what it was like for you to wake up and discover you're an angel."

"Well, I can't imagine what it was like for you to wake up and discover your kids had grown up to be hunters."

"You still take the gold for 'unexpected revelations.'" Her smile grew to a lopsided grin he couldn't help but return.

"It's like the worst competition ever."

Mary laughed. "You got that right."

Sam's smile fell away, and he walked to the opposite side of the bed from where Mary sat. Instead of climbing onto the mattress, he stood and picked at a thread on the blanket. "Is this the part where you lecture or yell at me?"

"No. I was hoping this was the part where we talked to each other like people. And then maybe we'd go watch the second _Lord of the Rings_ movie." Mary frowned. "Why? Do you think I should yell or lecture?"

"I…" Sam stopped, not sure how to answer. Part of him felt like he deserved a good, loud lecture. Maybe it would ease the strange pressure.

"Sam," Mary said when he didn't continue, "your brother was wrong to say what he did."

"No, I was…I was awful! I should never have said those things to you."

"So, you think I should follow your brother's suggestion?" she asked.

He stared at her without blinking. There was no way they were having this conversation. It didn't even feel real.

"Sam?" she pressed, clearly wanting an answer.

"Huh?"

"Is that why you think I'm here? To punish you somehow?"

He shrugged and dropped his gaze to the floor, not willing to answer outright.

"Oh, ba-Sammy," she sighed, correcting herself mid-word.

Emotions muddled Sam's mind. He didn't want to be treated like a child. Yet, at the same time, he didn't want his mother to stop calling him all the little names mothers use. But how could he have both? How could he _want_ both?

Mary stood and walked around the bed to kneel next to him. "Sam, I'm still figuring out what it means to be your mom. But if there's one thing I know it does not include, it's hitting you. Not going to happen. Let's just put that out there now." She tapped his chin until he met her eyes. "And I don't mean because you've got a big old adult brain shoved in that noggin' either. I didn't hit Dean as a kid, and I had no intentions of starting as either of you grew older. Understand?"

Sam didn't understand any of it, but he nodded.

"Good. Now, how about you and I go chill out and watch some movies, hmm?" She leaned in closer like she was sharing a secret. "I find myself needing to know what happens next. And I could definitely stare at Aragorn and Legolas for a few hours."

Sam thought he might cry from sheer relief. What had he done to deserve such a mother? He nodded eagerly. "Yeah. I could probably go for that too."

Mary's eyes went wide with surprise. "Oh. Really? I hadn't considered…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

Sam quickly replayed the conversation in his head and gasped when he realized what he'd implied. Not that he _didn't_ enjoy staring at Aragorn and Legolas—they were each aesthetically pleasing in their own ways. But he hadn't exactly expressed that to anyone in his lifetime either.

"That's not…I mean…" Sam tripped over his words in a rush to explain.

Mary just laughed and waved it off. "I don't care, Sammy. It doesn't matter to me one way or the other—or both ways? Honestly, I'm still learning a lot of the terms. Who knew there were so many ways of describing sexualities and genders? It's fascinating."

Sam's cheeks blazed hot as he followed her to their media room. He hadn't given his own sexuality much thought in recent years. And it wasn't like it would be an issue again for the next few centuries.

He helped her figure out the DVD player and they leaned against each other on the couch to watch with Morpheus curled up against him. An hour later, Dean and Castiel joined them. Sam tensed in his seat.

Dean exhaled loudly, hesitating in the doorway until Castiel shoved him forward. He scooped Morpheus into Sam's lap and sat next to them. Then, he slowly reached his arm out and pulled Sam into his side. "I'm sorry, dude," he whispered even though no one was paying attention to the movie.

"Me too," Sam said, finally relaxing.

"I shouldn't have said that…that thing about…Mom would never…" Dean's voice sounded as broken as his words.

"I know." He pressed his face into Dean's jacket and felt his brother's arm tighten around him.

"I don't know why I…"

"Shut up and watch the movie, Dean." Sam shifted so his head rested on Dean's leg. Mary snagged his feet and put them on her lap. Morpheus rearranged himself so he was laying against Sam's stomach. Once everyone was settled, Sam never wanted to move again. "Some of us are trying to bask in the glory of Aragorn and various elves. So, shush!"

Dean choked on laughter he tried to smother and pulled Castiel down beside him. "You heard the guy, Cas. Sit down and bask."

When the first disc ended, Sam realized the archangels still hadn't joined them. "Where are Gabriel and Raphael?"

"Not sure. They mentioned having another meeting in Heaven tonight." Dean stood, careful not to let Sam's head fall as he went to change the disc. "I don't know when they're leaving, though."

"They won't leave for another hour or two," Castiel said. "Did you need to talk to them before they go?" The seraph brushed his fingers through Sam's hair, scratching lightly against his scalp.

Sam shook his head, fighting not to moan at how good those fingers felt. "No. I was just curious. They don't usually miss out on movie-time."

"Gabe's been doing a lot of 'nesting' lately when he thinks we aren't watching," Dean said with a snicker—and used Castiel's signature air-quotes gesture with a wink.

"Like what?" Mary asked, grinning at the scowl Castiel sent Dean for mocking him.

"Like decorating rooms with little things. Or doing the dishes by hand. I think tonight is laundry—we saw him headed toward the washroom with a bunch of towels." Dean wormed his way into his seat, maneuvering Sam back into place.

The words didn't fully register in Sam's mind. He was too comfortable. And once the movie started playing again, he was too lost in the fantasy of Middle Earth to think about reality.

It happened near the end of the film—just as Gandalf appeared with the dawn at Helms Deep. Sam had started to drift slightly, lulled by his brother's hand carding through his hair. Then, Gabriel's voice cut through the soaring music and directly into Sam's head.

 _ **Samuel Winchester—your room, right now!**_

Sam jumped so hard he fell off the couch. Mary and Dean's hands grabbed for him, but he was already rolling to his knees on the floor. He looked at Castiel—the seraph's eyes were alarmingly wide.

"What?!" Dean looked between him and Castiel, instantly on high-alert. "What's happening?"

Sam couldn't move, couldn't speak. All the air was gone from the room. One thought screamed through his mind, louder than Gabriel's own words— _HE KNOWS!_

"Sam, what's wrong?" Mary asked, reaching for him. Sam shied away, pushing to his feet and staggering back several steps.

"Someone better start talking," Dean growled.

"Gabriel called for Sam," Castiel answered, his voice reflecting Sam's own shock.

"So? Is there danger?" Dean stood, preparing for battle. "Is he in trouble? Do we need guns or blades? _I need information, folks!_ "

"He is calling him to his bedroom," Castiel clarified, "and he sounded…"

"Angry," Sam finished in a small voice.

Dean's gaze narrowed on Sam, studying him closely. He always saw through him and recognized hidden truths. "He's found what you've been lying about." It wasn't a question.

Tears burned Sam's eyes but he blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

 _ **I said, "right now," Samuel! You have one minute.**_

Sam flinched and forced himself to keep breathing.

"You better go," Castiel said softly, adding a tight nod for encouragement. It didn't help.

His body went numb as he slowly staggered toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean start to follow. Castiel stopped him, shaking his head. Morpheus had no such inhibitions, shifting into his larger size and silently padding along with Sam.

The hallway had never seemed so dark and long. Each step became harder as his mind whirled with all the excuses he knew would fail. Only Morpheus' nose occasionally nudging him kept him moving forward. Maybe Gabriel _hadn't_ found the book.

 _Sure,_ his mind scoffed, _he's just shouting over angel radio because he's highly disappointed in your sock drawer organization._

The door to his room was already open. Sam paused outside, debating whether or not vomiting would increase the archangel's sympathies. He doubted it.

A figure moved in the doorway, large enough to block the light from inside. Sam blinked and looked up to find a stone-faced Raphael. He stepped back in alarm, not expecting _both_ archangels.

"Come in, Samuel," Raphael said, moving aside to make room for Sam to pass.

The blanket and sheets from his bed were laying in a pile on the floor. Gabriel stood next to the mess, staring down at the book in disbelief, and Sam's heart sank. The Messenger had never appeared so still.

No one spoke right away. Sam shuffled into the room and stood by the wall farthest away from Gabriel. The bed between them provided no safety but the solid cement at his back helped keep him upright. Morpheus sat by his side, adding another barrier separating Sam from the others.

Finally, Gabriel held up the book. "Where…where did you get this?" He sounded distant, like he was in shock instead of angry.

Sam dug a thumb into his palm, needing to ground himself in something. "I…it w-was with the books. From Heaven."

Gabriel's eyes darted to Raphael, who frowned. Then, the Healer's eyes lit with revelation and chagrin. "I kept it on my desk after you left. I must have accidentally scooped it up with the others in my haste."

"That doesn't negate the fact that Sam knew we wouldn't want him to read it." Gabriel turned to him. "Am I right?"

"I-I didn't know that for sure," Sam said, looking down.

"Really?" Gabriel's voice turned hard and sarcastic. "You keep all your books wedged between the mattress and headboard? Hidden under the fitted sheet?"

"No."

"I didn't think so." Gabriel began pacing. "This…this is what you were trying to do when you blew up the bathroom, isn't it? You were trying to manifest an angel blade."

Morpheus' head snapped back to look at Sam in alarm. The canine had known the book contained something that might upset the angels, but he'd never pressed for details. His blue eyes looked wounded at the unspoken deception.

"Yes." Sam pressed himself harder against the wall, wishing he could disappear.

Gabriel stopped and took a step toward Sam, his voice dropping lower. "Do you know how dangerous that was?"

"I was just trying to…"

"What, summon a weapon that has the ability to _kill angels?_ " He took another step forward.

Sam's stomach turned—did Gabriel think he'd wanted the weapon to use against _them_? "I needed to know…for defense…"

A blade dropped into Gabriel's hand. It was larger than the ones Dean had collected off dead seraphs. This one was longer, brighter, and gave off a hum.

Morpheus growled a warning as the fur on his back stood on end. Gabriel's eyes flicked in the canine's direction. He didn't back down, but remained in place across the room.

"These aren't _knives_ , Sam. These are swords of Heaven—made to kill demons and dark creatures and fallen angels!" Gabriel's grace rushed through the room like a tempest.

"I-I know!" The wall was the only thing keeping Sam upright as his knees turned to liquid. "We've used them before."

Raphael placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. The Messenger shuddered and reeled his grace in, visibly trying to calm down. His blade disappeared.

"Samuel," Raphael turned to him, "you have used an angel blade as a human. They posed no more danger to you than any other dagger or knife. But you are an angel now—and an angel blade does not just cut flesh. It cuts grace."

Sam swallowed. He knew that—he _did_. He just hadn't quite taken that fact into consideration.

"The burns on your hands are _nothing_ compared to what could happen if you summoned a blade incorrectly. What would you have done if the blade was turned the wrong way and sliced into you?"

"I don't know. Called for Cas?" Sam answered in a whisper. "I didn't…the book didn't say anything about…"

Gabriel laughed and Sam shut his mouth. "No, the book _didn't_ say anything about the dangers, did it? You know why? Because it was never meant to be a textbook! It was just a dumb set of notes written down by a stupid student before the Earth even formed." Gabriel's grip on the book made it crumple.

Raphael sent his brother a sad, soft look. "You were never stupid, Gabriel."

Sam's mouth dropped back open. "You…you wrote it?"

"Yes, I wrote it. For me." Gabriel crushed the book to his chest. "Not for silly little fledglings who think they're ready to fight with weapons meant for archangels!"

"I wasn't…I can't summon…" Sam's words kept lodging in his throat as his mind struggled to stay present for the conversation.

"You are a fucking archangel, Sam! A fledgling, but still an archangel!" Gabriel thundered. "Dad made you the same way He made us—with His own grace."

"But…I have a soul?" Sam edged along the wall, wishing Raphael wasn't between him and the door.

"Yes, you do. And what do souls do to angel grace? Hmm?"

"They…" Memories flooded him—offering his soul to Castiel, not knowing it was Lucifer in disguise. He dug harder into his palm and shivered. "They give them a power boost."

Gabriel's shoulders dropped, his whole body seeming to deflate. "Yeah. And you have your own little power generator built right into the grace used to make archangels. Sam, you have no idea how powerful you will become as you grow."

"Samuel, I understand that you are used to operating within a human world with human rules." Raphael's stony expression softened as he stepped around Morpheus, petting the canine's head like he was making a promise. "But those rules no longer apply. You will learn what things are now harmful and what are not, but that takes time and patience. Trust that we _will_ teach you these things."

Sam took a deep, unsteady breath and looked down at his hands. How could he explain the need to learn these things now—not in a year or a decade or several centuries down the line? What if he needed that knowledge tomorrow?

"I regret that we must leave soon—if this meeting were not so important, we would stay and discuss this further. As it is, it may be best we take the evening to calm down and talk more in the morning." Raphael turned and looked around the room. "Where are your notes?"

"My notes?" Sam asked hollowly.

"Yes. You kept meticulous notes on all your previous readings. I should have realized when you did not come to me with questions…" Raphael shook his head. "No matter. Please retrieve them."

Sam walked in a daze to his dresser and reached underneath to pull out the small notebook he'd kept hidden. Gabriel snorted behind him. It took all his control to not jump at the sound.

Placing the small notebook in Raphael's hand, Sam felt like he was handing over his last chance at protecting himself. Guns and stakes were no longer options with his small hands and they did nothing against the enemies they normally faced. The angel blade would have been _his_.

Raphael took it with a small nod. "Thank you. Now, I will be taking the rest of the books—"

"No!" Sam shouted in pure panic. "You can't! Please!"

Raphael shook his head and began gathering the books from Sam's desk and nightstand. "Nuriel was correct—these are far too advanced. I will bring you—"

"No!" He tried to grab the books but the archangel was too tall. His hands grasped at Raphael's tunic instead, yanking on the fabric to pull him down. "Please! I promise not to hide them. I need them, please."

Raphael looked down at him with a frown. "You have already hidden things—and that dishonesty led to you hurting yourself. How can I trust that you will not try again if given the opportunity?"

Sam heaved a sob into the tunic, pulling hard enough to tear it. "I'm sorry. Please, I promise. I'll do anything. I'll take any punishment, just not this. Please! I'm sorry!"

He heard Raphael sigh and felt a small rush of grace as the Healer shifted to sit on the bed. When Sam opened his eyes, he realized the books were gone—not given to Gabriel, not set down somewhere else in the room, just gone. He'd never find them again.

"Samuel," Raphael gently cupped his face with both hands, looking both fond and exasperated, "this is not a punishment. I will be bringing you other books better suited to your knowledge level and needs. Yes, we will have new rules for reading them. Yes, we will be monitoring your reading and work more closely, but only to ensure your safety and understanding of the material. But we will not stop teaching you."

Movement in the doorway caught Sam's attention and he turned to see Dean and the others standing there. His brother's eyes were scanning the room, appraising the situation—Sam's tears, the pile of bedding, Gabriel's aloof stance. "Everyone doing okay?" Dean asked evenly.

Sam was too upset to speak. Raphael just nodded, but Gabriel huffed and said, "Your brother has been trying to manifest his own angel blade."

Castiel gasped and pushed his way into the room. "What?"

Dean frowned, taking in everyone's reactions. "Wouldn't he have to _have_ a blade first? I thought you guys got them at, like, Heaven's weapon shop or something."

"No," Castiel said, looking devastated, "they are created from our grace and unique to each angel. It is incredibly dangerous if not done properly. I cannot imagine…I do not believe any angel has ever tried before reaching adulthood."

"That's because no fledgling ever considered it!" Gabriel laughed, but it sounded all wrong—too high, too emotional, too frantic. "They were too busy playing and singing and cuddling with each other and Caretakers."

"Yeah, well we were raised with shotguns and salt lines," Dean reminded them all gruffly.

The room fell silent.

Sam squirmed, not wanting Raphael's hands on his face anymore. They were too warm and made his skin prickle all the way down to his chest. He didn't like it—didn't understand why it kept happening around the angels.

"Perhaps we should reschedule tonight's meeting," Raphael sighed, removing his hands. Sam bit his tongue to keep himself from reminding the archangel that he didn't _need_ to breathe and could therefore _stop sighing._

"No," Dean said, surprising everyone. "I think everyone needs a break to calm down. You two go ahead and go to your meeting—it's important. I got this." He brushed past Castiel and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"As you wish." Raphael nodded to Dean, then turned his attention back to Sam. "Try to get some rest tonight, Samuel. I promise I will return with more books in the morning. And we will discuss better ways to address your concerns."

Sam looked away without answering. How could they address what they didn't understand? They'd probably come back with picture books and an ankle bracelet with a built-in baby monitor.

Raphael stood and made his way to the door. Sam chanced a glance over at Gabriel. The archangel's silence was unnerving. He was still visibly tense—shoulders tight and drawn up, eyes narrowed and flaring with grace. Sam leaned into Dean when Gabriel finally moved to scoop the bedding off the floor.

Remaining in a crouch, Gabriel spoke in a rough, low tone. "I'm sorry I scared you—but you scared me, too. To know that you could have died using something I wrote…I can't even tell you how much that upsets me."

Sam swallowed, wanting to reach for the archangel but feeling frozen in place. "I'm sorry," he whispered for the umpteenth time that night.

"I know, kiddo." Gabriel gave him a small, sad smile. "Raph is right—you should get some sleep and we'll all talk about this more in the morning. Okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, barely audible to anyone except the angels.

"Okay." Gabriel stood, barely keeping his grasp on the linens. "There's fresh sheets and blankets on his desk. I'm gonna drop these off at the wash room before we leave." He paused at the doorway. "If you need us to come back early for _anything_ just pray."

The pressure in the room dropped slightly when both archangels left. Sam felt his legs shake. Dean gathered him into his arms just before he could collapse.

"Alright, dude. Let's calm down and maybe Mom and Cas can fix your bed so you can lay down. Or do you want to move to the big bedroom?" Dean offered in a hopeful tone.

Sam shivered at the thought of being watched all night. His independence had already been diminished by his size—his own actions probably demolished what was left. "No, I think I'll stay here tonight," he answered.

"Fine," Dean grumbled, sitting down on the desk chair. "But you and I are gonna have a talk now. The others may be willing to wait till morning, but I've already waited for days."

Sam tried to shift away, but Dean held him so they remained facing each other. "Dean, I'm tired," he started to argue, but his brother cut him off.

"Then you should have tried sleeping at night instead of reading books you snuck in here. So, tell me—what the _fuck_ were you thinking? And I'm being serious here. I want to know what impending doom scared you enough to try making a weapon that could have killed you."

"I don't know," Sam muttered. He fiddled with the buttons on Dean's jacket.

"Do you think we can't protect you?"

"It's not that…"

"Do you think the angels can't protect you? Or that they won't? Hey." Dean tapped Sam's chin, making him look up. "I want to know—why is this so important right now?"

"I just…I need to do this, Dean." He stared into worried green eyes, begging him to understand.

" _Why?_ I thought we'd agreed to retire, dude."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Retire."

"Hey!" Dean said, offended. "I haven't looked for a single case since this started. I've even fielded a few calls from hunters—told them we're closed for business and put them in touch with others. So, yes—retired."

"And what about the next apocalypse, hmm? Are we just sitting it out? Because we've reached a point where the world almost ends every damn year."

"Hell yeah, we're sitting it out. In case you forgot, there's an entire army of angels we now have on our side and it's time they did their part in protecting this planet."

Sam frowned and stared down again. They wouldn't know if Michael and angels would come through for them until tested. What if the moment of truth came and they failed?

"Sammy, man," Dean gathered him closer, "talk to me. What is this really about?"

"What…what am I…" Sam's voice quivered as he tried to reign in the storm of emotion threatening to break him. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore."

"What do you want to do?" Mary asked quietly, sitting on the newly made bed.

"It doesn't matter—it never matters. Anytime I try to do anything it ends in disaster."

"That's not true," Dean said.

"It fucking is true!" Sam pushed off his lap, too restless to just sit. "I go to school—disaster. I return to hunt—disaster. Dad died, I died, you made a demon deal, then you died, I drank demon blood, I released Lucifer then jumped in the cage. And that's just the early years! Shall I list my failure to make decisions since then? Amelia, the Trials, the Book of the Damned, Charlie…"

"Alright, enough!" Dean reached out, grabbing Sam's shirt and dragging him closer. "Those things weren't your fault—even if I said differently at the time, I was _wrong._ And you left out all the times you saved us. Saved people and the world!"

"But that's always been my role! And now, I'm just expected to stop?"

"Yup!" Dean flicked him gently on the nose. "You got a second chance here, dude. We all got a second chance—to be a family and figure out what we _want_ to do, not just what we're _supposed_ to do."

"Yeah, that's a great plan!" Sam scoffed, ripping himself from his brother's grasp. "But what about when you're gone? Huh? What do I do then?!"

"Gone?" Dean sat back in surprise. "Where am I going?"

Sam let out a frustrated growl. "You're gonna die, Dean! Even if you and Mom live to reach old age, you'll still be dead within a few decades. And then what am I going to do? We have no idea how I'll age physically. I could look ten! How am I gonna navigate this world as a ten-year-old? I need to know how to defend myself without you!"

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, "the angels will…"

"I'm supposed to depend on the angels?" Sam laughed and wrapped his arms across his chest. "I'm just supposed to cross my fingers and hope that I'll be welcome in Heaven once they all learn _who I am_?!"

Castiel suddenly knelt down next to him. "Sam, should you choose to remain on Earth after Mary and Dean's passing, you would still have myself and the archangels."

"Cas, I love you, but I am not operating under any illusions here. You would go with Dean—as you should. Raphael will eventually return to Heaven and stay. Gabriel has the attention span of a gnat—he'll grow bored within a few years and either take off as the Trickster again or return with Raphael. I mean, they're already wrapped up in meetings every other night!"

Castiel's mouth fell open. "You…you believe you will be alone once Mary and Dean die? That Heaven will abandon their newest fledgling on Earth for centuries without a care?"

"Heaven's never really given a shit about me before, Cas. And I'm not 'their newest' anything—I don't belong to anyone but myself." Just because Chuck had changed him didn't automatically make Sam part of their family.

Castiel started to speak, but Dean cut him off. "This is what's had you all tore up for the past couple weeks? You've been consuming books at a crazy rate—don't think I didn't notice the pile in the library getting smaller and smaller—and you were willing to blow yourself up to be ready for something that _may_ happen years from now."

"I need to be prepared," Sam said weakly. "I can't rely on our weapons. I'm too small to properly handle most of them. An angel blade would be _mine_. And I don't know how long I'll have access to those books—or I didn't. They're gone now."

His chest constricted so quickly it made him stagger. _Oh God, they're gone. All I have are my notes about theory—which are useless because I never understood the basic concepts to begin with._ Panic swarmed him at the thought.

Castiel's arms wrapped around him, and the pressure and itch that had been building for days slowly eased. Sam buried his face in the seraph's neck as the scent of rain washed over him. "I know this has been hard—that you are struggling. But do not think for a second that I would abandon you. An eternity in Heaven with Dean would be Hell for both of us if we knew you were alone."

Dean snorted. "I'd _make_ it Hell."

Sam tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. He felt himself lifted into the air as Castiel stood. "Shh, it will all be okay, Sam. Let's get you into bed. You are exhausted."

"Don't wanna sleep," Sam mumbled into Castiel's neck.

"Cas is right, dude. Angel or not—you're gonna make yourself sick if you don't get some rest." Dean's hands pulled him from Castiel, and Sam tightened his grip on the seraph's coat. Someone gently pried his fingers away with a chuckle. "Let go, Sammy. Or do you want to move to the big room. We can totally do that if you want."

Sam reluctantly released the fabric and allowed himself to be transferred to Dean's arms. He saw Mary turn down his blankets and Morpheus jump onto the bed in his small form. Dean lowered him to the bed and Sam felt his body melt into the mattress. He was beyond tired.

Mary tucked the blankets around him and Morpheus, then kissed his forehead. "I love you, baby," she whispered in his ear. "It's going to be okay—you'll see. I would storm Heaven from within if I had to. I would take on Michael himself. You won't be alone, I promise."

"Thanks, Mom," Sam said, blushing.

Castiel perched on the side of the bed. "Would you like help getting to sleep?"

Sam considered it for a moment. Usually, he hated being made to sleep—hated having his mind touched by anything or anyone. But right now, the prospect of lying in bed for hours with only his thoughts seemed much worse. What he really wanted was the bliss of nothingness, even if it was temporary. "Yes, please."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, really?"

"Yeah," Sam curled onto his side, pulling the blankets up to his ears.

"Sleep well, Sam." Castiel brushed his fingertips across his forehead, and the world faded away.

* * *

Gabriel was the first to escape the meeting as it ended. He couldn't wait for Michael to take his soldiers and wipe the British Men of Letters' headquarters from existence. Then, he'd have some peace, knowing they'd never touch his flock or anyone else ever again.

He hated meetings, and that had not changed since he'd left Heaven. They made him edgy enough without the subject being "the worst members of humanity." He needed a break before moving on to the next item on his schedule that evening— _interviewing_ the prisoners who'd hurt Sam.

" **Are you alright, brother?** " Raphael asked quietly as he approached from behind.

" **No,** " Gabriel said. His shoulders slumped. Too many things were wrong for him to be alright.

He couldn't stop seeing Sam's face from when he'd been confronted. Or the way his wings had quivered. Or the sound of his voice as he'd pleaded with them to not take those damn books.

" **Perhaps you should check on him,** " Raphael suggested, steering them toward Heart Hall. " **Castiel informed me that Samuel is sleeping. Go—remind yourself that he is safe. It will calm you. And hopefully keep you from accidentally demolishing our prisons.** "

" **And that would be a bad thing?** "

Raphael scowled at him. " **Go.** "

Gabriel flew into the bunker's kitchen. Dean and Mary both jumped in surprise. Castiel saved their coffees from spilling and tilted his head. "You are early. I did not expect you to return for several more hours."

"Needed a break." Gabriel shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

"They getting any closer to taking those bastards down?" Dean asked.

"Before the new year, if all goes according to plan," Gabriel said. He couldn't wait—no more worrying, no more waiting, no more meetings. And hopefully it would give Sam some closure. The kid deserved it.

"Good." Dean drained his mug.

"So, how was he after I left?" Gabriel asked. All three glanced at each other, their faces a mixture of misery and trepidation. He felt like sprinting to Sam's room as his worry spiked. "That bad, huh?"

"We, uh," Dean cleared his throat, "got to the bottom of some things. But it's kind of a long story and Sam should be here for it."

Gabriel looked to Castiel, who nodded in agreement. "It is best to wait until morning."

"I thought I might check in on him."

"Cas knocked him out, so you should be good." Dean got up and stretched. "I'm headed to bed, too. It's gonna be a rough day. You might want to reschedule lessons tomorrow."

"Right." That didn't bode well, but at least he'd get some answers to the kid's behavior.

Gabriel said his goodnights and walked down the hall to Sam's room. The boy was curled into a tight ball under his blankets. Morpheus was snuggled against his head on the pillow.

"Just making sure he's okay," Gabriel whispered when the canine opened his eyes.

He brushed the hair from Sam's face and smiled as he felt the boy's grace respond. _Dad-above, I love this kid._

 _ **Gabriel,**_ Raphael's voice interrupted his thoughts, _**Michael says he is ready whenever you return.**_

 _ **On my way,**_ Gabriel replied. He pressed a kiss to Sam's forehead. _See you in the morning,_ he promised silently as he flew back to Heaven

* * *

 _It is colder than usual when Sam drags himself out of bed. He shivers and pulls on shoes with the toes cut out. They stopped fitting his feet seven years ago, but there are no stores within walking distance anymore, so he makes due._

 _He conjures a small grace-light to illuminate his way to the kitchen. The silence is only broken by his feet scuffing through the thick layers of dust—he can't remember what the hum of electricity sounds like. The generator hasn't seen fuel in half a century._

 _The kitchen is bare—no surprise. But the plumbing still works and he is grateful the well water never got poisoned during the last war. He'd almost killed himself guarding it._

 _He drinks a glass of icy water. Hates the way it burns his teeth and belly. But it's all he has to sustain him until he can scavenge the woods for birds again._

 _A sound startles him and his glass shatters on the floor. It is a sound he has not heard in a very long time. The sound of wings._

 _He turns quickly, snatching a butcher knife from where he's taped it below the counter. The sight of Gabriel makes him freeze. The archangel looks just as surprised to see him._

" _Sam," he says, almost like a question, "what are you doing here?"_

" _I live here."_

" _Still?" Gabriel's eyes scan the kitchen, taking in the empty shelves and grime-covered surfaces._

" _Yeah." He tapes the knife back into place. Curses when the tape doesn't stick anymore. "Is something happening?" It's not the question he wants to ask._

" _Umm, you could say that. Haven't you heard over angel radio?"_

" _I learned to tune it out." He refuses to admit that the sound of angels hurts too much. Their voices are a constant reminder of everything he's lost._

 _Gabriel pulls himself up straighter, his face expressionless. "Well, then I won't bother you with silly little details about war. I just came to grab something I'd left behind."_

" _Oh." Sam shuffles awkwardly in place. "Do you need help finding it? I've moved things around a lot in the…"_

" _Nope. Already got it when I realized someone was here." Gabriel shakes his head. "Damn kid, when did you last eat?"_

 _Sam shrugs. Food isn't always a priority. He's learned to exist on less than what humans need. Grace doesn't fill his belly, but it keeps him alive between meals._

 _Gabriel sighs in exasperation. "Didn't you at least learn to snap up food? Or did you forget you're an angel?" He snaps his fingers and several bags of food appear on the counters._

 _Sam's mouth waters at the sight of bright red apples peeking over the top of one bag. "Thanks," he whispers, not bothering to answer the archangel's questions. None of the books he's read help on the food-front. Angels don't eat. He doesn't think of himself as an angel anymore._

 _A hand brushes through his hair, making him jump. No one touches him. Not since Dean's death._

" _Kiddo, what happened to you?" Gabriel asks, almost fondly._

 _Sam tries to remember. There is nothing to remember—just empty spaces of time passing. People leaving, one-by-one, until all that remains is him._

" _I don't know," Sam says._

" _It's probably best you never came to Heaven." Gabriel's eyes glaze over. "You'd never have survived the invasion."_

" _Is there anything left?" Sam asks. He's gone so long without news—doesn't even know how many humans are left at this point._

" _No." Gabriel turns away, fists clenched. "I need to go. I…I'll try to check on you again. Soon. If I can."_

 _Sam wants to stop him—make him stay and fill the emptiness. Warm grace saturates the room and it stirs something deep inside. "I'm sorry," he blurts out, knowing it can't possibly cover everything he needs to say._

" _I know, kiddo." Gabriel pauses at the doorway. "If you need anything, just pray for me. I'm always listening."_

 _He flies away without turning around._

 _Panic surges in Sam's chest. "Gabriel, wait!" His grace reaches for the archangel, wings flaring, and follows the trail of energy._

 _Closing his eyes, Sam pushes himself_ _ **between**_ _. Despair and regret drives him forward. Why was he so stupid? He cannot lose the trail—he may not get the chance again._

 _Everyone else is dead. Beyond dead. Where did souls go when they were destroyed? He needs Gabriel. Doesn't want to exist in shadows, alone and locked away in a prison of his own making._

 _Agony courses through his grace with every passing second. He dares not open his eyes—the devastation of the world will only distract. Only Gabriel matters._

 _He flies forever._

 _Eternities pass without air or sight or heartbeat._

 _He has never flown this long._

 _It hurts._

 _And then, he's falling._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: (no note, because author ran and hid under the bed)  
Come be my friend on Tumblr: theriverscribe  
Check out my sideblog on Tumblr dedicated to this story: spn-bythegraceofgod  
**

 **I LOVE YOU ALL!**


	39. Teach Your Children pt10

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
Part 10: Their Children's Hell Will Slowly Go By**

 **TRIGGER WARNING:** ** ** _Anxiety attacks, flashbacks, brief moment where Sam thinks he's hurt Morpheus (he's fine!), and as per usual INTENSE EMOTIONAL ANGST!_****

* * *

Gabriel landed in Heaven feeling better for having seen Sam. The kid was the best thing to ever happen to him—the whole flock-and-family-combo felt like a fever dream most days. They were more than he'd believed possible.

He waved at his siblings and made for the prison without delay. The cells were quite a distance from Heart Hall and there wasn't a minute to waste. He'd already put this meeting off too many times.

The bright modern office halls changed as he grew closer. Shiny chrome and fluorescent lights gave way to cobblestone and torches—a jarring transition that spoke of too few workers taking care of too many projects. The Architects had probably been too busy with repairs to make upgrades a priority. Or they'd been conscripted into the army.

Four guards stood at attention outside the prison. One stepped forward and said, " **Messenger—we have been expecting you.** "

" **Yes. I apologize…if I am late.** "

" **We were given no expected time—simply told to grant you access at your convenience.** "

" **Oh. Good.** " _Thank you, Michael, for remembering I have a casual relationship with time,_ he sent to his brother. Michael's amusement trickled through their bond, giving him strength to continue forward. " **I only require one thing—no interruptions. Understood?** "

The guard looked to her companions with a frown. " **You do not wish for one of us to stay with you?** "

" **No,** " Gabriel grinned. " **I wish to be alone with them.** "

" **Of course, sir.** " The guard nodded and stepped back to her place.

Gabriel walked up to the doorway and took a deep breath, preparing himself. _Do not destroy the prison. Do not destroy the prison OR the prisoners…because once they are destroyed you cannot remake them and try again. And Michael will not be happy._

He pushed through the doors and entered, forcing himself not to shudder as the "dead-zone" effect immediately fell over him. The prisons of Heaven were one of the few sections with built-in buffers that silenced angel radio. No communication through grace could pass through these walls in either direction. It was why guards always remained posted _outside_ the doors.

Inside there were two more soldiers. Gabriel dismissed them, waving off their concerns, and made his way down to the cells. His grace roiled in anticipation, stirring ancient anger he'd long pushed aside. _Do not destroy the prison,_ he reminded himself.

The humans sat in separate cells side-by-side, unable to see each other through the stone walls. The woman looked tired and bored. But the man eyed Gabriel with a glint of malice and understanding.

"Oh look! The ArchJoke has finally arrived, Ms Watts!" Shepard sat forward on his bench, back straight and muscles coiled tight, ready for action. "Just get back to our solar system, did ya?"

"Aww, an unimaginative nickname. How quaint." Gabriel grinned, feeling _Loki_ rising closer to the surface. He had many masks, many roles, many parts of himself—and all were demanding justice from these two souls.

Shepard stood slowly and stretched—a lazy display of arrogance. "I have to say—all those stories about archangels being Heaven's greatest weapons seem a bit exaggerated. I met your Commander." He shrugged. "Honestly, not that impressed."

"Well, Mickey's always been a big stickler for rules and regulations. Doesn't like to get his hands dirty with filth," Gabriel said. He paced slowly in front of their cells, savoring the build-up.

"What, so he sent _you_?" Shepard scoffed.

"Duh!" Gabriel laughed, barely contained rage storming just below the surface. "I know, I know, I'm adorable, right? Tiny vessel, winning smile, jokes a lot. But here's the thing—my brothers only know Heaven and Hell. Mickey commands armies and has no time or patience for these kinds of things. Raphael, well, he's a Healer. He'd rather study you like a science experiment than interrogate you. And Lucifer would just dust your souls and be done with it. But me? I'm different."

"Yeah, you like to hear yourself talk," drawled Ms Watt in a weary tone.

"Oh, I do," Gabriel agreed. "I mean, I'm the Messenger, after all."

"Got any good messages for us then?" Ms Watt asked.

"A few, so listen up." Gabriel snapped up a chair, straddled it backwards, and pulled a lollipop from his jacket pocket. "I'm gonna ask some questions and you're gonna answer."

"What happens if we do? Time off for being a cooperating witness?" Shepard asked, leaning his face against the bars. "And more importantly—what happens if we don't give a shit about your questions?"

Gabriel peeled the wrapper off his sucker and stuck it in his mouth, considering his answer. He remembered Sam's welts and bruises and nightmares—had personally watched the video of the boy's torture _twice._ The torches flickered on the wall before he could restrain his temper.

"Let me make something very clear here," he finally said. "You two may have trained in interrogation techniques with the best and darkest minds available, but I have had centuries to perfect my methods. Centuries of practice seeking out the biggest dicks humanity has had to offer. I've done it all a thousand times over. And you know what?" He stared into Shepard's cold blue eyes, no longer smiling. "I consider every single one of those seconds as rehearsal for this moment."

Shepard lost his grin. His soul, a dim little thing, squirmed inside his chest. Even Ms Watt seemed to lose her air of boredom and sat up straighter.

"Once I have my answers—and you bet your ass I'm gonna get every bit of information I want if I have to strip it from your brains with my own sticky fingers—once I'm done and we've annihilated your creepy club in Britain, you and all your little friends get a first-class ticket to your own special Hell."

"Hate to break it to ya mate, but you're gonna need more cells if you plan on fillin' this place with our colleagues." Shepard looked around Heaven's prison, his face pale and sweating.

"Oh no," Gabriel scoffed. "We would never sully even our prison with your souls for longer than necessary. I meant _Hell_. Downstairs—way down. Think 'basement level.' And you are in a whole lotta not-luck, because the King of Hell—he's besties with the Winchesters. He's preparing a special eternity just for you and your friends." He crossed an arm over the back of the chair and leaned forward. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

Sam was falling. The silence of _between_ lifted with a rush of air and sound as gravity yanked him back toward the world. He only had time to gasp in a breath, filling his lungs after an eternity of none, before his descent came to a sudden stop.

He landed hard, slamming face-down into a stone floor. He barely noticed the jarring pain that shot through his hands and bones upon impact or how his new-found breath left him. All that existed was the agony of his grace and wings.

Reality and dreams blurred together, indistinguishable to a mind and body in distress. Hunter-instincts told him to move—assess the situation. This amount of pain always meant danger.

Sam cracked open one eye and immediately closed it when pure white seared his vision. Rough stone scraped against his fingertips but at least he could move his arms. His legs were another story—they were bound in thick cloth that he couldn't shake.

Sounds came in waves, slowly registering until they crashed over him in a deafening roar. He covered his ears with bloody palms but it did nothing to block the rising noise. Too many voices screamed through his mind to make out any words.

He couldn't think through the noise and pain bombarding him. There was a vague sense that he'd been looking for someone. Or had he argued with them?

Something wet touched his face and Sam flinched. It returned, working across his cheeks and forehead—a tongue lapping at his tears. He shuddered, whimpering as he pushed it away.

Memories flashed unbidden. A white dog with blue eyes who liked to lick his face. Another set of blue eyes, paler and colder, belonging to a man's face. He also had a tongue that liked to lick Sam's face—a forked tongue that froze his tears, turning them to ice against his skin.

But this tongue was tiny and warm. It tickled his eyelids, wiping tears away before they could fall. It was accompanied by something soft that brushed across his brow. _Feathers? No—fur._

He forced one of his eyes open, squinting at the kaleidoscope of light and colors. A small white face pushed closer, filling his vision. The dog stared back with frantic blue eyes, mouth opening to bark.

Sam heard nothing over the thunderous chorus of voices, but he remembered a name. _Morpheus!_ The sight of the canine brought back other memories—the book, the fight, the nightmare. But he was awake now.

Awake, and definitely not in the bunker.

"Morpheus? What's happening?" He felt his own words more than he heard them.

A hand touched Sam's temple, pouring unfamiliar grace over him. It coated his face and moved down his neck to spread across his chest. His own grace shrank away from the stranger, recoiling into a ball that left him shaking and nauseous.

" **No!** " Sam lashed out, pushing the hand away as hard as he could.

Another hand grabbed his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Nuriel looked down at him, black curls forming a halo around her frowning face. Her mouth moved like she was speaking.

Alarm shot through Sam. Why was Nuriel here? His list of worst case scenarios started getting check marks near the top.

Her grace continued to wrap around him, making his skin tingle like when Raphael had healed his burns. The pain and noise dimmed to tolerable levels—enough that he could think and move without screaming.

" **No! No touch!** " he ground out, clawing at her arms to dislodge them. They held tighter, and Nuriel shook her head sending her curls flying back and forth. He kicked his legs harder against the bindings but they only tangled worse.

Sariel joined Nuriel above him, her stoic face revealing nothing about their motives. The guard leader knelt by his feet, seizing his ankle before he could land a kick to her face. She said something and a hint of exasperation flickered in her eyes.

Sam screamed as they held him down. " ** _GABRIEL!_** " he cried with his voice and mind, hoping to reach the archangel either through prayer or angel radio. " ** _Gabriel! Raphael! Castiel! Help me—angels take me!_** _"_ Fueled by fear, his grace surged to the surface. Lightning arced from his skin, forcing the angels to stagger back in shock.

He rolled away from them, hoping to gain some distance, and the cloth binding fell away from his legs. Scrambling to his knees, he saw what had been wrapped around his lower torso—the blanket and sheet from his bed. He paused, suddenly unsure of his situation. But there was no time to speculate once he saw his surroundings.

They were in a massive underground cave. Ancient pillars hewn from rock stretched toward a ceiling too high to see. There was no obvious light source, yet everything seemed too bright—the walls themselves were glowing.

But it was the sea of faces surrounding them that made Sam's heart hammer against his chest. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people were gathered in the cavern. Most wore the familiar grey suits but he'd recognize them as angels regardless of their clothing. Grace-lit wings rose from every angel's back, casting prisms of color that shimmered sunshine on water across every surface.

His vision swam as memories merged with the present. Only one place had held this amount of grace in Sam's experience. Stone changed to steel and the temperature plunged to freezing. Lucifer's laughter echoed above the cacophony of voices. His soul shuddered and screamed— _Run! Hide!_

Tiny feet pawed at his hand on the floor but he didn't dare look away from the crowd. They were growing restless, whispering to each other and shifting closer. Then, he saw a burst of white fur at his side as Morpheus shifted to his large form. Several angels started moving forward, wings flared in alarm and blades dropping into their hands.

" **No!** " Sam forced himself to his feet, grabbing handfuls of fur to remain steady. His grace rose within him again, crackling along his skin. He flung a hand out, prepared to defend them both against an attack. He felt a growl vibrate through Morpheus' body.

Sariel stepped in front of them, facing the crowd. Her wings extended outward like a curtain of flames. The angels fell back several feet.

A quick glance around the cavern revealed several doorways. The closest was only about thirty yards behind them. He saw Nuriel move toward them and bolted.

Darting through the crowd, he used his size to his advantage. Spots of color danced in front of his eyes and the roar of voices crescendoed. He stumbled, disoriented from the pain splitting his head. Hands grabbed at him but quickly fell away as his grace turned storm-strong, rolling through him like a tempest and striking down anything that stood in his path.

 _Gabriel, I don't know where we are but Morpheus is with me. I can't hear him anymore—I can't hear anything. There's too much noise. There are so many angels here…and grace!_

Sam desperately hoped the other angels couldn't intercept his prayers. Then, his thoughts turned to his family and a new fear surfaced. What if there had been an attack on the bunker?

 _Castiel, the bunker's been compromised! I don't know where I am, but two of the guard were here when I woke up surrounded by angels. Don't trust Zadkiel if he's there! Please, keep Mom and Dean safe. And keep yourself safe, too!_

The door opened just before he could reach it and Sam slammed into the figure that stepped through. A gentle hand steadied him. Familiar grace flowed over him—a blast of pure heat that smelled of wood smoke. It melted the icy echoes of the Cage, replacing them with memories of fire.

Sam forced himself to look up, knowing who he'd see.

Michael smiled gently from behind the face of a young John Winchester. His head tilted and his mouth moved. Sam stared back, still unable to hear. Even the noise of the angels was quickly drowned out by his own blood rushing through his ears.

Wrenching himself out of Michael's grasp, Sam stumbled backwards several steps until he ran into a wall of fur. Leaning into Morpheus, he watched as Michael raised a hand. The air thrummed with energy.

 ** _Hush, my angels. Your noise is too much for sensitive young ears._** His words were met with swift silence as the Host listened to their leader. **_Thank you. Until further notice, I am ordering radio silence. Emergency use only._**

Sam pressed harder against Morpheus, legs shaking from the effort of standing. Michael's words were the first clear thing he'd understood since waking—and almost the last voice he wanted to hear. Why was the archangel here in some cave?

Michael crouched down. " **You are safe, child. No one will hurt you here.** "

Empty promises did nothing to reassure him. " **Why here?** "

Michael's head tilted and he frowned in apparent confusion. " **Why are you here?** "

Sam knew why _he_ was there—because the angels had brought him! He glared at the archangel's mockery. " **Why** ** _you_** **here?** **You take me and—** "

Michael raised his hand again and Sam flinched, bracing for a blow. He heard gasps from the crowd. Morpheus growled.

"I apologize," Michael said softly as he lowered his hand. "Your guardian informs me that he does not understand Enochian. And he has been unable to communicate to you through his usual methods."

"Oh, and you volunteer to act as translator? No, thanks." Sam ignored the whispers from the angels.

"I realize you have little reason to trust me, Sam—"

"No," Sam cut him off, "I have _no_ reason to trust you."

Michael nodded. "And what can I do to gain your trust?"

"Let me go home."

"We did not bring you here."

Sam stared at him, incredulous of the blatant lie. "Well, Morpheus didn't bring me!"

Nuriel stepped forward. "Sam, you flew here yourself."

"No, I didn't," he scoffed, panic fluttering in his stomach, "I can barely manage a few feet across the yard! I didn't fly myself into the…the underground lair of some angel cult!"

"You think…" Michael looked like he might laugh but thought better of it. "You are not underground—this is Heart Hall. You are in Heaven, Sam."

"No." Sam shook his head, not caring that it made the pain spike inside his skull. "I can't be in Heaven. I don't even know where it is! I don't…"

He couldn't breathe—was there even air in Heaven? The angels all stared at him, their wings twitching in distress. Or was it disgust? Could all angels see his scraps of mutilated soul shoved inside their Father's grace?

"Sam, you need to calm down," Nuriel said, edging closer with her hands held out. It was meant to be a placating gesture, but it made Sam burrow as close to Morpheus as possible. "Raphael is on his way."

"You're lying!" Sam cried, tears stinging his eyes. He heard no reassuring rumble from the Healer or Gabriel's lighter lilting tone. His mind held only static and silence since Michael had hushed the crowd. **_Raphael! Gabriel!_**

The crowd gasped, many cringing in pain as Sam called as loud as he could for the archangels. Even Michael winced. Sam considered it a small victory.

Nuriel knelt down only a few feet away, keeping her hands visible and steady. "I'm not lying. You can't hear him or Morpheus because your grace is overwhelmed. You did a lot of damage when you flew here, and fledglings aren't meant to be exposed to this part of Heaven without proper protection. We need to get you to an area that—"

"No! I want to go home!" He didn't want to be shuffled around Heaven.

"I can't take you home until—"

If they wouldn't take him home, then he'd go himself. Sam closed his eyes, trying to focus on Castiel's grace. _Warm rain, petrichor, soft and safe, blue…_ His wings shuddered painfully as they unfurled.

" **No!** " Nuriel yelled.

Several hands seized him at once. Sam screamed, twisting in their grasp, but there was nowhere to go. They held him still as someone folded his wings together. Hot grace wrapped around the aching appendages, forming tight bands that forced his wings to remain closed.

Sam flew into a frenzy, kicking and clawing anyone he could reach. His grace raged with him. He let loose a bellowing cry and unleashed the storm he'd worked so hard to contain in the past month. Lightning struck those who held him—a blast that sent them flying black several feet.

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to find Michael laying on the ground. The archangel looked shaken. Several other angels were also down, though most seemed to be recovering. But one figure remained still.

"No! No, no, no!" Sam ran to Morpheus, not caring if the angels decided to smite him.

Falling to his knees next to the canine, he stared in helpless despair. The massive chest slowly expanded. Sam gave a sob and laid himself across the canine, trying to listen for a heartbeat. It was muffled by fur, but he heard it—solid and strong.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please wake up."

Sam shook the canine, needing him to be more okay than just a heartbeat and breath. Tears blurred his eyes and tightened his throat, but he kept up his pleas. He didn't see the angel that knelt next to them until a hand reached out to brush the fur from Morpheus' eyes.

"Don't touch him!" Sam snarled, launching himself at the angel.

The angel's vessel was massive—a tall, burly biker covered in leather and tattoos. He laughed as he caught Sam easily and held him to his chest. "Oh, you're a feisty one! I bet you've been giving Nuri a run for her money. Now, settle down, little guy, before you hurt yourself."

Sam fought the arms that kept him pinned but it was useless. The vessel alone would have been strong enough to hold him without angelic grace. _This is why I needed a blade,_ Sam thought as he kicked feebly.

That thought stuck in his head. He could try to manifest a blade again. Even if he failed at procuring a weapon, he'd still do quite a bit of damage.

He concentrated on pooling his grace in his palms, focusing on the shape and feel of the blade. _I need this,_ he told his grace. The skin of his palms sizzled, blistering from the electrical energy as it accumulated.

Something cold settled in his right hand. Small and smooth, it hummed with his own grace. Sam closed his fingers around it, nearly crying with relief.

His left hand burned as grace continued amassing without form. Sam slammed his palm against the angel's ribs and _pushed._ The angel grunted and released him, staggering back a few steps.

"Oh, the new baby's got spirit!" the angel laughed, holding his side.

"I am _not_ a baby!" Sam said through gritted teeth. He swung his right hand, landing a blow on the angel's left arm.

A thin line of blood appeared across the tattoo of a heart with the initials _B.A.C.A_. inside. Blue grace slowly seeped out like ethereal gas, and several angels cried out in alarm. The biker angel just held out a hand to calm the others, and then clasped it over the wound.

"Just a scratch! No need to get your panties in a twist."

"Barachiel!" Nuriel scolded from behind Sam. "You are supposed to be helping!"

"I am helping!" Barachiel said with a wink. "I kept him occupied while you healed his dog-friend."

Sam whirled around to see Morpheus rising to his feet. He stepped forward, intending to run to him, but a hand grabbed his wrist. "Let me go!"

"Hold on. No running with dangerous sharp things," Barachiel said. "Nuriel—a little help?"

Sam tried to grab the blade with his other hand, but Nuriel got to him first. "No! It's mine!"

"Samuel!" Nuriel snapped. "Stop this right now. I know you are scared and angry, but this is _not_ the answer."

Tears slipped down his cheeks at the rebuke. His body and grace ached as he sagged in their grip. All he wanted was to check Morpheus and go home—he never asked to come to Heaven!

A commotion stirred in the crowed behind them. Then, someone plucked the blade from his hand. "Less than an hour in Heaven, and you've already stabbed someone. Your brother will be proud," said a voice in a well-known rumble.

* * *

Raphael had gone into his office after the meeting. Nuriel's list of recommended reading materials for Samuel was extensive but well thought-out. He'd gathered several from his own collection and had been planning to stop by the old nursery and library.

Then, the alarms sounded.

Before he could even ask Michael to report, the Host erupted in a cascade of cries. **_A fledgling… in Heart Hall… Shapeshifter… Father help him… in a vessel…_**

Books tumbled from his arms as he raced toward the commotion. **_Michael, I am coming. What is happening?_** he asked, skirting around a group of stunned seraphs in the hall. Archangels were not often seen running through Heaven.

 ** _Samuel just landed in Heart Hall. I am on my way there now,_** Michael replied.

Raphael muttered a rare curse and ran faster. There was no telling what state the boy would be in if he'd flown himself. He required daily healing from their practice sessions in the yard. Then, another voice rose louder than all the others, sounding far too young and terrified.

 ** _GABRIEL! Gabriel! Raphael! Castiel! Help me—angels take me!_**

He staggered against the wall from the sheer volume and desperation pouring off Samuel. It reverberated throughout Heaven as the Host felt and heard him too. He steadied himself and ran faster.

 ** _I am coming, Samuel! Do not fear—you will be fine!_** he said. But there was no reply. He mentally tallied the likely side effects a fledgling might experience after an Earth-to-Heaven flight. The power in Heart Hall alone would be enough to short circuit his ability to hear and function.

Raphael heard the boy's frantic prayers to Gabriel and Castiel, trying to convey his situation and warn his family. It was heartbreaking to witness while being powerless to respond. Michael's call for silence from the Host was a welcome relief even as he felt Samuel's fear of the Commander's presence.

Then, he realized Gabriel's voice was absent. _Father help us—Gabriel is in the prisons!_ One of the few dead-zones within Heaven where angel-radio didn't reach. A practical necessity for when angels were the ones kept within the cells, but at the moment it was just another barrier.

 ** _Seraphs stationed near the prisons—get Gabriel to Heart Hall. Immediately!_** Raphael ordered, nearly colliding with another cluster of angels as he turned a corner.

He felt a shockwave through his connection to Michael and knew something had happened. **_I had to bind his wings,_** came the Commander's sheepish reply. **_He was attempting to fly himself home. How soon will you—Oh Father!_**

 ** _What?! What is happening?_** Raphael asked, pushing seraphs out of the way as he drew closer to Heart Hall.

 ** _His canine is unconscious. Oh! How in the… did you know… Saints and Sinners, I am not going to survive this fledgling!_** The Commander was clearly rattled. **_The boy made an angel blade, Raphael!_**

 ** _I am here,_** Raphael assured him, pushing his way through the crowd. He heard Barachiel call for Nuriel's assistance, quickly followed by Samuel's protest and Nuriel scolding

The angels parted before him, revealing the most pitiful sight. Samuel stood with each hand held by a Caretaker. His wings trembled against their bindings.

Raphael took a calming breath and secured the tiniest angel blade from even tinier fingers. "Less than an hour in Heaven, and you've already stabbed someone. Your brother will be proud."

Stepping around Nuriel, he knelt down in front of the boy. A quick nod to the seraphs and they released their hold. He caught Samuel under the arms before he collapsed.

"Raphael?" Samuel whispered in disbelief.

" **Peace, child. You are safe.** " Raphael sat back on his heels, gathering the boy to his chest. He wrapped a protective layer of energy around them, buffering the young grace from the rest of Heaven. Silent tears soaked through his tunic and he held him closer. " **Shh, I am here and Gabriel is on his way.** "

He glanced at Michael who stood off to the side, not daring to get too close. The Commander nodded at the unspoken question. **_I will check with my guards closest to the prison. They should have informed Gabriel by now. I am surprised we have not heard—_**

 ** _Raphael, what the Hell is happening?!_** As though summoned, Gabriel's voice cut through their silent conversation. **_Samuel is here—in Heaven? What the fuck—MOVE, SERAPHS, OR I WILL RUN YOU OVER! Someone had better start explaining!_**

 ** _Ahh, I see they found you._** Michael smiled fondly. **_I shall explain on a private channel, so your screaming does not distract Raphael._**

Raphael mouthed a grateful _thank you_ and focused back on the child. "Let me look at you," he said, shifting Samuel until his tear-stained face was visible. "My goodness. You _are_ a mess. Burned, bloody, and barefoot—we really need to stop meeting this way."

Samuel looked down at his feet, wiggling his dirty toes and mumbling, "I was asleep and woke up here with—" His whole body tensed, eyes wide in panic as he twisted around. "Morpheus! Oh God, Morpheus, are you okay?"

Raphael kept a firm grip on the squirming body. Experience with Gabriel's sudden shifts in attention as a fledgling had come in handy through the ages. "He is fine, Samuel. See? Here he comes now."

The canine padded warily past the seraphs in the crowd. Most were watching the scene in stunned silence, but many were in obvious distress over seeing their youngest sibling's anguish. Michael was not going to have an easy time explaining this to them.

 _He cannot hear me,_ Morpheus said sadly as he finally reached them. Raphael nodded.

"Morpheus!" Samuel anxiously brushed the fur around the canine's face with the back of his hands. His fingers were curled into loose fists to protect the angry burns. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay? Did…did they heal you? Should Raphael look you over? I think Raphael should look you over. Raphael, I-I lost control—well, I didn't lose control, I did it on purpose, but I wasn't thinking and I caught Morpheus in the blast and he got knocked unconscious and mmph…"

Morpheus stopped Samuel mid-word with a well-placed lick across his face. _Tell him I am fine and to quit worrying about me when he's the one in need of healing._ He continued to wash the tears and sweat and dirt from the boy's skin, moving across his cheeks and down to his neck.

Raphael gently tugged on Samuel's hands. "Morpheus says he is fine and that I need to heal you instead."

"No, m'fine," Samuel tried to speak through pursed lips.

"You are decidedly _not_ _fine_. And I am going to ban that word from your vocabulary if you insist on using it incorrectly." He looked at the burns—they were worse than the last time the boy had attempted to summon a blade. In fact, between the flying and the fighting, Samuel was in need of quite a bit of healing.

"How is he?" Michael asked quietly, standing a few yards away.

Samuel's head jerked up at the question. The sight of the Commander made him hunch his shoulders as his breathing grew faster and shallower. His wings flattened protectively against his back as best they could within the binding.

Raphael cupped his face, forcing the boy to look at him. He smiled when hazel eyes lost their glassiness and focused. "I am right here and you are safe," he whispered.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as seraphs whispered to one another. Samuel's cheeks flushed bright red when he finally seemed to realize that they had an audience. A much larger audience than just one archangel and a couple Caretakers.

"I think he is going to make it," Raphael answered Michael with mock-seriousness. "Of course, no guarantees once Gabriel arrives. He may smother him in his enthusiasm."

"Is…is Gabriel coming?" the boy asked, dropping his gaze to study the burns.

Raphael saw the young grace churn despondently and frowned. Did Samuel think Gabriel _wouldn't_ come? Or was he just nervous?

"He is on his way now, Sam," Michael answered. "He has probably sent several seraphs to the healers in his haste to get to you."

 ** _Raphael, he needs to be fully swaddled and moved as soon as possible._** Nuriel looked between him and Samuel pointedly, eyes bright with impatience.

He understood her desire for swift action, but she had never dealt with Samuel Winchester in a situation like this. Rushing would only result in resistance from the stubborn boy. And that was something he wished to avoid.

 ** _Gabriel, how far away are you?_** Raphael asked, trying to get a gauge on time.

 ** _Almost there! Dad can go damn Himself for giving me back this vessel and its short legs!_**

"Let's see what I can do about making you more comfortable until he gets here. Lean forward against me, okay? There we go." Raphael settled Samuel against his chest again, running his hand through the sweaty curls. "I'm going to take the binding off your wings. You promise not to take off on me, right?"

"Promise," Samuel muttered into his tunic.

He moved his hand over Michael's binding, dissolving it with little effort. He ran light fingers through the ragged wings. All the pathways they'd built over the last couple weeks were tattered.

Samuel hissed, pressing his face harder against Raphael's collar bone. "Definitely not going anywhere," he tried to laugh through his tears.

"I know, I know—it hurts, but it should feel better soon." Raphael did what he could for the moment, coating the frayed pathways with healing grace. He watched the light numbing take effect—Samuel gave a sigh as both his body and grace relaxed. "There we go. You just rest. I will do more after Gabriel joins us."

Sariel approached them with a pile of bedding. "Here," she said gruffly, thrusting the blanket and sheets toward him. "These came with him. He…looked cold earlier."

Raphael smiled and took them with one hand, keeping the other around Samuel. "Thank you, Sariel. That is very considerate of you."

" **Where is he!?** Move, move, _MOVE_ , all of you—make like the Red Sea and get the fuck outta my way!Sammy, I'm here!" Gabriel's voice echoed around the Hall as he plowed his way into the far-side of the crowd.

Samuel stirred at the commotion, pushing himself upright. They watched as the archangel blew past all the seraphs, only knocking over a few who were too stunned to move. He finally burst into view, looking as disheveled as the boy he was trying to reach.

"Gabriel," Raphael sighed, shaking his head.

The Messenger's head whipped around at his name. His gold eyes went wide as he took in the sight of them all on the floor and sprinted toward them. "Oh, for Father's sake!" he blustered, falling to his knees at their side. "I can't believe you're here. Look at you—in Heaven! Oh Jesus, _look at you!_ What happened? You don't even have any shoes…"

Samuel's breath hitched as Gabriel reached shaky hands out to trace the fresh tear tracks. "Sorry," he said, sniffing loudly.

"No, no—none of that. I—Raphael, is he okay? What are we looking at?" Gabriel asked. His hands moved over the boy, touching his hair and face and arms, just to reassure himself that he was safe. Samuel tentatively reached back, playing with a button on the archangel's shirt.

Raphael smiled fondly at them both. "We are looking at a very tired fledgling who will need a good healing session before we return to Earth."

"No! I want to go home!" Samuel protested.

"He has scrapes and burns to his hands…"

"What?!" Gabriel cut him off. He took the boy's hands and turned them over for inspection. "Sam…did you try to manifest a blade again?"

"He tried, succeeded, and managed to stab Barachiel before I got here." Raphael wondered if anyone was going to let him finish a sentence. "He also completely destroyed his wings' pathways in flying here. It will take us days to rebuild, so no flying lessons for the next week or two."

"Forget flying—I'm not letting you walk anywhere for the next decade. Come here." Gabriel scooped him out of Raphael's arms, careful not to touch his wings. Standing up, he tucked the mess of curls under his chin. "Oh, kiddo. I'm so sorry I wasn't there—and that I didn't get here sooner. I should never have left."

"It wasn't your fault," Samuel insisted. "I-I shouldn't have…"

"Hush, I'm not done."

Raphael got to his feet and grabbed the blankets. He worried that Gabriel might overwhelm Samuel's emotional state with his fretting. A hand on his arm stopped him from moving toward them.

Nuriel shook her head slightly. **_Let him fuss—it is good for them both._**

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. **_I thought Caretakers advocated for calm when dealing with distraught fledglings._**

 ** _We advocate for honesty,_** she corrected.

 ** _I do not understand._**

Nuriel's gaze followed Gabriel as he paced, murmuring apologies and promises into Samuel's ear. **_You have a natural tranquility, Healer. You are as steady and solid as a mountain. Samuel expects that from you. Now, imagine if Gabriel had walked calmly into this Hall—composed, relaxed, unhurried._**

Raphael shuddered at the image and understood her point. **_He would seem angry. Or worse, cold and indifferent._**

 ** _Exactly,_** she said with a smile. **_Honesty is the best practice. Samuel needs to know that Gabriel is upset—that he is affected by what has happened._**

 ** _You have missed being a Caretaker,_** Raphael observed.

 ** _With every fiber of my being. It is who I am._** Nuriel looked at Barachiel. The seraph stared at the boy with eyes full of tears and wonder. **_We never stopped being Caretakers just because there were no more fledglings. Just as parents do not abandon their role when their child becomes an adult._**

* * *

Gabriel clung to the boy as he paced. He couldn't stop moving—couldn't stop babbling. Nervous energy twisted through his vessel and grace, and he feared it would tear him apart if he stopped.

He'd been shaking since guards burst into the prison and informed him of the situation. _Note to self—apologize to those guards. Maybe a basket of candy and flowers. And a vacation._ He'd not been kind to them for interrupting his interrogation after specifically telling them to stay out.

"Gabriel?" Raphael stood a few feet away like he didn't want to get too close. He held out a blanket that looked suspiciously like one from the bunker.

"Yeah?" He took the blanket and wrapped it around Sam, draping it over the top of his head to block out the staring faces of strangers. The kid relaxed into him more.

"We need to go somewhere more conducive to healing."

"Like the infirmary?" Gabriel made a face at the thought of taking Sam to the sterile rooms where Heaven's healers treated injured angels.

"I was thinking of the Garden, actually."

"Oh." He brightened at that. "That's perfect. Good idea, Raph."

The Healer gave him a wry smile. "I do get them on occasion."

"Every couple centuries or so," Gabriel teased, ducking away when his brother tossed a sheet at him. "Okay, let's move, folks. The sooner we get this kid healed, the sooner we can get him home. Morpheus—shift it and you can catch a ride."

Morpheus' ears perked up. He gave a full-body shake and shrank, then sprinted at the archangel. Gabriel snatched him up and tucked him into the blanket. Sam crushed the canine to him.

"Barachiel," Raphael called, gesturing the Caretaker toward them, "you should join us. We need to get that wound looked at."

Gabriel looked at the grinning seraph. "Barachiel! Did I dream Raphael telling me that you got stabbed?"

"Nope!" Barachiel walked alongside Nuriel, keeping his hand clamped tightly over his upper arm. "Your little one's a firecracker. He even managed to throw the Commander a couple yards. Never seen such determination in a fledgling before!"

"Yes," Raphael said dryly, "you learn to get used to it around this one."

"Sammy! Of all the angels, you stabbed Barry? He's one of the cool ones!" Gabriel playfully scolded as they walked out of Heart Hall. He heard the seraphs in the crowd rush at Michael with questions and stifled the urge to laugh—the poor Commander was not going to have an easy time explaining Sam to them.

"Sorry," came the muffled reply from under the blanket.

"Are you kidding?" Barachiel scoffed. "I'll still be telling stories about this when I'm in the Empty! Healer, can you make sure it leaves a scar? I'm gonna want proof."

Raphael just gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded.

Gabriel adjusted Sam so the kid's head rested higher on his shoulder. "I think you've made a friend," he whispered.

"Dean stabbed Cas when they first met," Sam huffed quietly, "and staked you. Maybe it's a sign?"

Barachiel's eyes went wide in recognition of the names. Gabriel knew he'd figured out Sam's identity. He would have laughed if it weren't for the spike in panic racing through him.

"Let me see that arm. You're not holding enough pressure," Nuriel intervened before the seraph could say anything. She pulled him to the back so they trailed behind the others while she answered his questions away from sensitive ears.

"What—stabbing is how you boys mark your territory?" Gabriel moved alongside Raphael as they continued to make their way to the Garden. He made sure the blanket remained high enough that Sam didn't see the others fall back.

"It's more Dean's thing. But he'll be happy to know I've picked up one of his habits." Sam yawned.

Gabriel felt little fingers picking at his jacket collar. He rubbed the back of the boy's head though the blanket. "Rest up, kiddo. We've got a little walk till we get to the Garden."

"I wonder if it looks the same…" Sam mumbled.

"You've seen it?" Gabriel asked, startled.

"When Dean and I were shot by hunters during the Apocalypse. Cas told us about the Axis Mundi and we met Joshua. He was nice." The kid's voice was soft, but they could hear the ache left by the memory.

"Well, it will probably look pretty different now that you're an angel. Joshua is still there. I think you'll like it." Gabriel wanted to show Sam a part of Heaven's beauty. Heart Hall was amazing even in its crumbling state—but part of its glory was in knowing its history.

The Garden was pure splendor. It was the seed of creation—the center of Heaven. A perfect place for healing and renewal.

They walked in silence after that. Nuriel and Barachiel rejoined them after a while. The biker angel made sure to meet Gabriel's eye and gave a serious nod.

 ** _The boy and his secret are safe with me. His identity changes nothing—he is still a child of Heaven and in need of nurturing by all grace-beings. The fact that he is a Winchester only means he will need even more support. And so will you, Messenger._**

Gabriel gave a wobbly smile. **_Thank you, Barachiel. You are right—we will need all those things and more. He definitely needs more angels on his side._**

 ** _Well, he has me!_** Barachiel grinned. **_And I like him._**

 ** _Give him a chance to settle and realize that not all angels will want to kill him on-sight, and I think you two will be thick as thieves._**

The seraph's expression turned somber. **_His reactions in the Hall make a lot more sense now. I had thought he was just a wild thing—a little bit feral, a little bit boisterous, and a lot scared. I hope I did not frighten him too bad._**

Gabriel shook his head. **_Not this kid. He has a lot of scars and traumas, but he rarely holds grudges. Even when he should._**

 ** _Be kind to yourself, brother,_** Raphael interjected. **_We have all made mistakes and fallen short of perfection. It is the lesson we learn from those mistakes and our actions afterwards that truly define us._**

"Oh, look—we're here!" Gabriel said a little too loud, ignoring Raphael's eye-roll and sigh.

The Garden was as resplendent as he remembered. Lush green grass formed a thick, soft carpet between the trees and flowers that blossomed with every color. The air smelled like honeysuckle and rose and lemon balm, all drifting on a light breeze that carried clouds of butterflies. It was Gabriel's favorite place in the universe.

There were several clusters of angels already there—mostly Healers working to restore wings. A few, however, were there for the simple joy of grooming each other. Their voices were lifted in songs that Gabriel had not heard since the dawn of humanity.

Joshua saw them enter and strolled over to greet them. " **Gabriel, I had wondered when I might see you again. And what do you have bundled under a blanket? I trust you are not sneaking any creatures into my Garden again.** " His eyes danced with delight and knowing.

Gabriel felt Sam tense up at the new voice. He slipped his hand under the blanket to run fingers through the kid's hair, trying to silently reassure him. "That was one time, Joshua!"

"Three times—that I know about," Joshua corrected him, switching to English.

"Well, I promise there's only two critters this time. One very tired fledgling in desperate need of a peaceful place and his canine companion. Kid did some damage to himself when he flew up here and Raphael's gotta look him over before we can take him home."

"Still not a kid," Sam grumbled under his breath, but Gabriel heard him.

"Listen, when you're one of the top ten oldest things in the universe, everyone's a kid." Gabriel lightly flicked his nose and withdrew his hand before Sam could retaliate.

Joshua chuckled. "Come. Let's get you settled. I have just the place."

The Keeper led them on a path past the old oak. The other angels all turned to watch their progression but no one approached. They crossed a small creek surrounded by tall, thick vegetation which swayed out of the angels' way. Gabriel knew immediately where they were going.

The weeping willow had been _his_ favorite place as a fledgling. Her branches twisted outward, carrying curtains of leaves that spilled toward the ground like braids. She kept the brightness at bay and created a calm sanctuary beneath her boughs.

"Do you mind if I steal Nuriel away?" Barachiel asked before they went under the willow. "It's been a while since we've had the chance to catch up."

"Have one of the healers look at that wound," Raphael ordered, side-eyeing the seraph. "I will know if you do not."

Barachiel grinned. "I wouldn't dream of defying you—I remember your lectures!"

"Be gone with both of you!" Raphael growled playfully. "And get yourselves groomed while you are at it! Your wings are disgraceful!"

Gabriel snorted, watching the two Caretakers scamper off like overgrown children. _This_ is what Heaven was supposed to be—how it _had_ been so long ago. He couldn't believe he was seeing those days return.

He ducked through the leaves into the familiar refuge. The shaded shelter smelled like rich earth and water. Thick moss grew at the base of the willow, providing a perfect cushion for Gabriel to plop down on. "Alright, Sam-a-lam. You ready to emerge?"

Sam grunted and reluctantly allowed the blanket to be pulled away. He blinked, looking around slowly. Then, he blinked again and sat up. "Whoa."

Morpheus rolled off their laps and sprawled in the grass. Butterflies danced around the canine, curious of the new creature in their midst. He sniffed them but made no move to interact with the fragile flyers.

 _I like this place, Gabrieloki. It feels similar to my Mother's realm—but even older._

"It should feel older, Morpheus. These are the seeds of creation—the first plants. Life was started here before the Earth was formed. Grace sustains the Garden but doesn't form it like the rest of Heaven. These trees and flowers are not a manifestation." Gabriel leaned back against the willow and sighed. _Hello, old friend._

She reached back, tickling his mind with tendrils of energy. _You have returned to me._

 _Always. And I brought someone who needs your comfort._ Gabriel looked down at the boy in his lap. Sam's eyes were roaming over everything around them, trying to take it all in at once. _I'll introduce you when he's feeling better. I don't think he can hear anyone right now._

 _Did the little bird fall from his nest?_

Gabriel blinked back tears. _He did, actually. And I wasn't there to catch him._

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Sam asked quietly.

"Nothing. I-I just haven't been back here in a long time." Gabriel sniffed loudly and wiped at his face, laughing. "We are sitting in my favorite place under my favorite tree. And she is making me very nostalgic."

Sam gazed up at the looming tree and slowly grinned. "Is it because she's a _weeping_ willow?"

Raphael's laughter cut off any retort Gabriel could think up. "I believe someone is feeling a little better."

Sam huffed out a breath, holding his hands carefully on his lap. "I wouldn't say I'm ready to run any marathons, but yeah, I don't feel like I just plunged through dimensions and landed face-first on rocks."

"That sounds like there is room for improvement," Raphael said, settling onto the ground in front of them.

"Hold on—I need to get us situated." Gabriel shifted Sam around so they faced each other.

"I could just sit on the ground." Sam frowned, squirming until his toes were dug into the dirt on either side of Gabriel's hips.

"Not happening," Gabriel scoffed. He hadn't been kidding about not putting this kid down anytime soon. And he certainly wasn't about to let him sit on the ground when he had a perfectly good lap available. "I'm way comfier than the dirt."

Sam rolled his eyes without saying a word. Now that they were face to face, it was hard to avoid eye contact—but the kid was certainly doing his best to look anywhere _except_ Gabriel. He stared out past the willow's leaves where a group of angels were singing softly in the distance.

Gabriel gently picked up the boy's hands, inspecting them closely. The burns were layered overtop scraped skin. "This looks like a whole lotta 'not fun.'"

"Yeah," Sam whispered, then hissed when Raphael started on his wings.

"Sorry," the Healer said. "This will not be as extensive as that first healing session I did with you. You have bruised grace and areas that have been stripped raw again."

"How soon before we can go home?" Sam asked.

"When I am certain your grace is healthy, strong, and protected enough to handle being flown back," Raphael said firmly. He met Gabriel's eyes over the boy's head. **_I have not asked him what happened to bring him here._**

Gabriel's gaze shifted to Sam. Below layers of exhaustion left by faded adrenaline from his unexpected adventure was a growing tension. Nuriel was right—his grace was too obvious. No matter how schooled his expression and body language, the boy's grace was churning below the surface.

"Sam?" He tried to keep his voice light as he focused on healing the torn and blistered skin.

"Hmm?"

"You feel up to telling us what happened?"

Sam winced and chewed his lower lip. "You mean with the angel blade?"

"No, I mean how you got to Heaven."

"Oh." Sam tried to shrug but couldn't quite manage with Raphael's hands on his back. "I-I don't really know."

"Sam," Gabriel sighed, "come on, bud. You gotta give us something to work with here."

"I don't! I was asleep," Sam finally looked at him. His eyes were guarded, jaw clenched.

Gabriel stared back gently, eyebrows raised, waiting him out. He rubbed his thumb over the healed skin of one palm in soothing circles. Then, began healing the other hand, never breaking eye contact.

"I had a nightmare," Sam blurted out.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. What happened?"

The boy fell silent for a while. His eyes grew distant, staring through Gabriel's chest at something only he could see. By the time his other hand was healed, Sam still hadn't spoken.

Gabriel gathered the hands together and pressed a kiss to them. "It's okay. Take your time. We aren't going anywhere."

Sam's breath caught and the color drained from his face. "Everyone was gone," he croaked.

"Gone where?" Gabriel asked quietly.

" _Gone_. It was like some kind of apocalyptic future. Dean and Mom had been dead for centuries. I was still in the bunker but everything was different. No power, no food. There'd been wars—nuclear, supernatural, you name it."

Gabriel felt cold creep over him. He glanced at Raphael and saw the Healer frowning back. "And where were we? Me, Raphael, and Cas?"

"I-I don't know about Raphael and Cas. I think they were…" Sam swallowed painfully. "They were dead or gone. Heaven had been invaded. Destroyed. It was all gone. Y-you showed up, though…looking for something."

"And what did I do?" Gabriel prompted, fearing the answer. _Please don't tell me I attacked him or blamed him for everyone's death._

"You…you were surprised to find me there. And you snapped up food when you realized I didn't have any. But you were fighting a war and couldn't stay. So, you flew away and I…" Sam blinked rapidly as he fought to keep control of his emotions.

"And you tried to follow," Gabriel finished for him.

The boy nodded. "I-I don't want to b-be alone," he said, losing the battle with his tears.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Gabriel pulled Sam to him, letting the kid lay across his chest. He glanced desperately at Raphael, wishing the Healer could give him the words he needed right now. But _he_ was the Messenger—words were _his_ domain.

"I flew forever—it felt like weeks. And when I landed here, I was half-asleep still and thought…I thought the angel guard had kidnapped me."

Gabriel had no doubt that the boy had been trapped _between_ for a terrible length of time. No wonder his wings were in tatters! He ran his fingers through the tangled mess of curls. "I am so, so sorry, Sam. That must have been terrifying."

"It was stupid! Just…just a stupid dream," Sam said, angrily swiping away tears. "I can't believe…I just…I acted so stupid! I could have killed Morpheus! I could have lost him in _between_ or when I blasted Michael and the others…"

"Hey! Whoa there, mister! Take a breath," Gabriel cut off his tirade. "None of that was stupid. Flying into Heaven while you're asleep? That's definitely gonna be disorienting! And you have good reason to not trust angels who haven't earned it yet. Nothing you said or did was stupid."

Sam stayed still and silent—every muscle clenched to the point of causing fine tremors. His grace twisted frantically, reaching toward both archangels for reassurance. They heard a low, miserable hum that carried through the Garden, turning heads toward the distressing sound.

Gabriel couldn't stand it anymore. With one hand tangled in curls and the other resting on Sam's lower back, he dissolved Raphael's protective wrap from everywhere except the delicate wings. He wanted nothing to stand between him and the infant grace.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, stirring restlessly at the change. He tried to push himself upright but Gabriel's hands kept him in place.

 _Something I should have done a long time ago,_ Gabriel thought as he began draping his own grace around the boy. "I'm redoing Raphael's protections. You are upset and your grace recognizes me better. Just relax."

He'd read between the lines of Sam's dream. This wasn't a metaphor or the boy's mind twisting their fight. It was a clear picture of what Sam truly feared—an eternity of isolation in a world devastated by events he played no part in preventing. A life abandoned by those who made life worth living.

 _I don't want to be alone._ Sam's words would haunt Gabriel for years. Not "I didn't want to be alone." Not past tense. _I don't want to be alone._

He focused on the one thing he realized he'd unintentionally been avoiding. For all his dramatic displays of affection, he'd rarely let others see the depth of his emotions. It was time to change that.

Gabriel closed his eyes, drawing on every ounce of feeling the boy in his arms stirred. _Love, adoration, the need to protect and cherish_. He cautiously streamed it all into the grace that enveloped the fledgling—not too much at once so as not to overwhelm.

Sam gasped softly and went still. His grace surged up to the wrap, pressing tight against it. "What…?" he broke off with a shuddering breath. "I don't understand."

"I know," Gabriel said sadly, "but you will. And I promise—you are not alone. Not now, not in seven centuries, not ever."

Sam hid his face and Gabriel let him. He scratched lightly on the back of the kid's head and neck, infusing the wrap with more emotion. They drifted there, in warmth and contentment, under the swaying leaves of his favorite tree.

Raphael continued to work on Sam's wings, gently sealing off the exposed areas and relieving the ache of injury. He hummed along to the songs sung by the angels in the distance. Gabriel smiled, feeling the deep bass rumble through them as he played with Sam's hair.

Things needed to change. They'd been so wrapped up in treating Sam like an adult that they'd neglected caring properly for his grace. There would have to be compromise.

Gabriel thought over the last few weeks. Sam had grown steadily more irritable with each day and they'd all chalked it up to stress or frustration. But as he felt the boy's grace soothe itself against his own, he realized there was more to it.

Sam denied his basic needs almost daily—food, sleep, and touch. The food and sleep were sometimes problematic, but they could usually coax him into eating and resting. Touch, however, was a bigger issue.

Grooming could only provide so much on its own. Fledglings _needed_ to be touched by other angels—it fed their grace, nourishing it as it grew. By pushing them away, Sam was starving himself. It showed in each outburst of anger.

A plan took shape in his mind. It would require a lot of patience and love. And possibly some firmness. _Not my strongest suit_ , Gabriel admitted to himself. But he was willing to do anything to make the boy in his arms understand he was fucking wanted.

"Gabriel," Raphael said softly, "I am done for now. He should be protected enough to take home."

"Awesome." Gabriel pushed the hair away from Sam's temple. The kid still had his face planted against Gabriel's chest, but he seemed much calmer. "You hear that, Samshine? You ready to go home?"

Sam nodded, turning his head so he could see. He blinked at the brightness of the Garden, then yawned. "Yeah. Oh…oh God, I forgot." He pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I prayed to Cas! I told him not to trust Zadkiel. Are they…are they alright?"

"They are fine," Raphael reassured. "I have spoken to Castiel and Zadkiel several times now and kept them apprised of our situation. Your family is safe, though eager to have you home."

"I bet Dean is being a terror," Sam groaned.

"All the more reason to get a move on, don't you say?" Gabriel stood, keeping Sam in his arms.

The boy instantly started squirming and protesting. "Gabriel, I can walk!"

"Uh huh. That's nice. Maybe next time, _if_ you remember your shoes, I'll let you walk around." Gabriel glanced back to make sure they still had Morpheus. The canine was running after them, a cloud of butterflies trailing behind him.

Raphael raised an eyebrow at him. _The ground is safe enough for him to walk. It is not like there is broken glass or nails in Heaven's Garden._

 _Have you even met me before? If you think I'm putting him down for one second, you are sorely mistaken._ Gabriel glared back, tightening his hold on Sam just a little bit more.

His brother laughed, a deep rolling chuckle that carried across the Garden. Nuriel and Barachiel's heads turned at the sound. They gave thanks to the healers and rushed to join them.

"Are you healed?" Raphael asked Barachiel with a mock-stern look.

"Good as new!" The seraph showed Raphael his arm and winked at Sam. "Even got to keep the scar."

Sam blushed bright red and groaned. "I-I'm sorry I stabbed you."

"No worries! It's good for me—keeps me on my toes. I'd gotten a bit too rusty over the years." Barachiel grinned and looked Sam over. "How are _you_ feeling? Better now that Raphael's fixed you up?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine."

Raphael scoffed loudly. "He would say that if he were bleeding out."

"Well, he always was a special kinda idjit," a gruff voice said from near the Garden entrance.

Gabriel almost dropped Sam when the boy suddenly twisted in his arms. The man looked just like the archangel remembered from all those years ago at Crawford Hall. He even still had the old tucker cap on.

Sam gasped. "Bobby?"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
** Sorry for the delay on this one! It kicked my butt all over the place...  
Come be my friend on Tumblr: TheRiverScribe  
Come check out my sideblog full of stuff about this story: SPN-ByTheGraceOfGod


	40. Teach Your Children pt11

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
Part 11: And Feed Them on Your Dreams**

 **TW: DISCUSSIONS OF CHILD ABUSE**

* * *

Sam gaped at the man in the Garden.

Clad in his usual trucker cap, flannel, and vest, Bobby stood out among all the angels. "I remember you bein' a bit _bigger_ last I saw ya," he said with a grin.

"Bobby, you're here," Sam said, dumbfounded.

"Well, I sure as hell ain't in Hell anymore. Did gettin' shrunk mess with your memories? 'Cause you're the dumbass who traipsed down below to bust my soul free." Bobby studied him closely, narrowing his eyes as he walked up to them.

Sam's vision of his father figure blurred, washed away in tears of joy. He reached tentatively for him, wondering if his fingers would pass through the flannel shirt and red vest like an apparition. Could he touch a soul?

"Go ahead," Gabriel encouraged.

Sam's fingers met the solid, familiar fabric of Bobby's clothes and curled tightly around the vest collar. Tears ran freely down his cheeks as he laughed. He never thought he'd see this man again, let alone touch him.

"Hi'ya, kid," Bobby said softly. He covered Sam's hand with his own and looked him over in awe.

"Bobby," Sam breathed. He twisted in Gabriel's arms, clamoring for the hunter with his other hand.

"Whoa there! Okay. Gimme a second!" Gabriel transferred him to Bobby, keeping a hand against his back.

A tingly rush of emotion ran over Sam's skin. The feeling remained after Gabriel dropped his hand and moved a few feet away with Raphael to give them some sense of privacy. It was hard to think around the cloud of _feelings_ in his mind and chest.

"You okay, Sam?" Bobby asked quietly. He wiped the tears from Sam's cheeks with deep-lined knuckles.

"Yeah. I…I think so." Sam tried to reassure him with a smile.

Bobby frowned. "What are you doin' up here, kid? From what we heard over the radio, this wasn't a planned visit."

"I flew here…by accident," Sam said, taking a shaky breath, "in my sleep."

"You boys never could do things the easy way, could ya?" Bobby muttered. "But you're okay? You get hurt?"

Sam shook his head and glanced at the archangels. The tightness in his chest relaxed when he saw them. "I'm good. Raphael fixed me up."

"Bein' fixed up doesn't sound like you weren't hurt." Bobby turned Sam's face with a finger against his chin. "Was it the flyin' or did something happen when you got here?"

Sam saw fire in Bobby's eyes and finally managed a genuine smile. "Mostly the flying. I'd only managed a couple feet around the yard back home. Crossing dimensions was a bit much on my… wings. Plus, I may have freaked out once I got here but no one hurt me."

He realized as he said it that it was true. Not a single angel, including Michael, had hurt him during all their scuffles. Even the wing binding, while terrifying, had not been painful. Everyone had done their best to be exceedingly gentle with him—and he'd electrocuted and stabbed them in return. _Great first impressions,_ he thought wryly.

"Then why you look like you're suckin' on a lemon?" Bobby asked with a scowl.

"I, uh, may have accused them all of kidnapping me. And then electrocuted them with my grace, including Michael. And stabbed one of them." Sam winced.

Bobby's eyes went wide. "Well, that sounds like a terrible way to wake up."

Sam huffed a laugh and leaned forward. He took a deep breath. Familiar smells flooded his senses and suddenly, it felt like he'd just stepped through the door of Singer's Salvage again—cheap whisky, motor oil, lemon mechanic's soap, and kitchen herbs. _Home._

"I missed you, Bobby," he murmured, pushing his nose closer against the man's neck.

"I missed you too, Sam. So damn much." Bobby tightened his arms around Sam and swayed in place, each lost in the moment. Then, he cleared his throat. "Your archangel's givin' me the stink eye, so I'm guessin' we don't have much time. Impatient feller, ain't he?"

Bobby's eyes shifted toward the archangels and Sam's gaze followed. Raphael was at least trying to give them the illusion of privacy by facing out over the field away from them. He had an arm slung over Gabriel's shoulder in casually calm restraint. But Gabriel was staring straight back at Sam with open concern.

"He's not always like this," Sam said, holding up a finger to ask for another minute.

"Not always like a new daddy who's watchin' a stranger handle their kid?" Bobby smirked.

Sam whipped back around in horror, pressing his hands against the hunter's bearded mouth and wishing he could push the words back past his lips. "Oh my God, Bobby," he whispered fiercely, "why would you say that!? Eww! I can't believe…You know he can hear you, right?"

"Pretty sure he can hear you too," Bobby mumbled around Sam's hands.

"Yes, he can!" yelled Gabriel. "And the correct term is 'Flock Leader' or 'Flock Alpha,' not 'daddy.' Let's all try and remember that, please." The archangel shuddered.

"Oh God!" Sam buried his blazing face in Bobby's vest. He felt the old hunter chuckle at his pain and tried to kick him with bare feet.

"Hey now, no kicking!" Bobby dug two fingers into the top of Sam's knee. His aim was perfect, causing Sam to gasp out a squeal and jump on reflex.

"Damn it, Bobby," Sam grumbled, rubbing his knee.

"Don't you 'damn it, Bobby' me, boy!" The hunter laughed, crushing him in another hug and whispering in his ear, "Now, listen. We ain't got much time before you're gonna go home. So, tell me," he turned so his back was to the archangels, "do you trust them?"

Sam nodded against his shoulder.

Bobby leaned back, his eyebrows raised. "You didn't even think about it."

Sam rubbed a hand over his arm. His skin still tingled from the grace Gabriel had placed around him. "I-I can't explain it, Bobby. But with everything that's happened this past month or so? Yeah, I trust them. They saved me. They've taken care of me and Dean and…and Mom. Oh, Bobby—Mom's back!"

"I know, Sam." Bobby grinned but there was an edge of sadness.

"That's right. Raphael said you knew her up here. You must miss her now. I'm sorry." Sam bit his lip.

"You stop that." Bobby pulled Sam's chin down gently until his lip was released. "Don't go fussin' on my account. You boys need your momma more than I do. It's only right you get to know her. Now, I want you to do me a favor."

Sam nodded, eager to do anything for his father figure. "Of course! Just name it."

"I've known you since you were an itty-bitty thing, smaller than this," Bobby hoisted Sam up in his arms, "and there were times when you let yourself just be Sam. Like when you'd sit with me on the couch and watch shows or let me read to you. Or when you boys got older and you'd call me just to talk for no good reason. But then there were times when you were a Winchester."

Sam's stomach clenched. He shook his head but couldn't find the words to say. His hands tightened on Bobby's vest.

"Don't shake your head at me. It took a year of coming to my house before you'd start eatin' the food I'd set in front of ya. Just completely ignored it and waited for Dean to fix you something. And once I got you boys back in my life, there were times when you'd decide to go at things alone because it was 'too dangerous' for anyone not a Winchester and I'd be left waitin' by the phones. Again. All I'm sayin' is—give yourself time to just be Sam for a while, okay? Because it sounds like you got a good thing goin'."

"Bobby, we never meant… I didn't…"

"Stop. I ain't lookin' for apologies. I had a lot of time to think up here…about things I wish I'd done different. And I wished I'd known to say that to you back when you first let me hold you like this."

Sam sniffed loudly and wrapped his arms around Bobby's neck. All he'd ever wanted as a kid was for someone to tell him to "just be Sam." That being himself was enough. But did he even know how to "just be Sam" anymore?

"Thanks, Bobby," he whispered.

"Aw, hell, kid. You don't have to thank me for something that should have been said to you all along. Now—oh, hey there, little guy! Ain't you just a tiny bundle of fluff. And you talk! Well, that's a new one, even for me."

Sam turned to see Morpheus rolling around Bobby's feet. A few butterflies still fluttered in the air above him. The canine yipped and pawed at the hunter's leg—or ankle, really, considering his reach didn't extend much higher in his small form.

"You can hear Morpheus?" Sam asked.

Bobby crouched down to pet him, bracing Sam on his knee. "Yeah. It's weird. His voice don't exactly match his body, if you know what I mean."

Sam nodded. It had been odd to him at first too. "Morpheus is a special dog. He came from Hecate and has two sizes. This is his… small size." He glanced between the canine and the hunter, worried about Bobby's reaction.

"A shapeshifter of sorts, huh?" he asked, continuing to pet him. Morpheus yipped and licked his hand. Bobby nodded. "From what I know, Hecate is a very special lady. Oh, you take care of my boy here, do you? Uh huh."

Sam grinned. He heard Bobby's skepticism. "I said this is his small size. You think it's safe to shift up, Morpheus?"

The canine yipped just as two shadows moved over them. Sam turned to find both archangels walking up to them. "It is safe," Raphael said with a smile.

Gabriel knelt next to them, his eyes only on Sam. "You doing okay, kiddo?" he asked quietly, placing a hand on Sam's back.

Warmth and _love_ infused his chest, tingling along his skin. Sam sucked in a breath. Why did Gabriel keep doing that? "Yeah," he croaked out, managing a small smile.

"Morpheus, if you wish to shift it may be best to move a few feet away. I do not believe Bobby is prepared to see your change and he is holding your charge," Raphael said in an amused tone.

"He ain't gonna burst outta his skin, is he?" Bobby muttered to Sam.

"No," Sam snorted. "He's just…bigger than most dogs."

Morpheus sprinted several yards away, then gave a full-body shake before growing into his fuller size. Bobby froze, tightening his grip on Sam. His muscles were tensing as though preparing to run.

"Bobby, it's okay," Sam tried to reassure. "It's still Morpheus. I promise."

"Sam—that thing is bigger than a horse."

"He's not a thing, Bobby." Sam winced.

Morpheus walked closer, his blue eyes trained on the hunter holding Sam. When he got close enough to touch, he sniffed against Bobby's hat. Satisfied, the canine moved on to Sam, sniffing his hair and face and clothes, inspecting every inch.

"I'm fine, Morpheus," Sam mumbled through closed lips, not chancing getting a tongue or nose pushed into his mouth. The hands around him tightened again, making him fear the hunter might try to run off with him. "Bobby," Sam said, trying to gain the upper hand, "I promise—Morpheus is safe. He carries me on his back. Even _Dean_ lets him sleep in bed when we share!"

Bobby swallowed. "Yeah, I'd love to see your brother fight against… _him_ over bed space."

Morpheus snuffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. Then, he turned his gaze again on Bobby, tilting his head to the side. Sam wished he could hear what was being said—because whatever it was had the archangels chuckling and Bobby snorting.

"Well, I hope someone at least got a picture," he said, releasing his death grip on Sam and lowering him to the ground. "I'd pay good money to see his face."

"Who's face?" Sam demanded. No wonder Dean was frustrated when he couldn't hear him talking to Morpheus or the angels—this was awful!

Gabriel barely let his toes touch the grass before he'd scooped Sam up. "Your brother's face when he first met Morpheus and got sneezed on. And he thought he'd been cursed."

"Put me down, Gabriel!" Sam snapped, twisting in the archangel's grip before he gave into the desire to lean closer.

"I think someone is grumps," Gabriel teased lightly but he studied Sam's face with care.

"Only because you seem to think I'm incapable of walking," he grumbled.

"Ri-ight." Gabriel smiled and kissed his forehead, much to Sam's continuing horror. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with how tired you are or the shock of your impromptu flight here?"

"Well, those things certainly don't help." Sam scowled at him, wiping his forehead.

"Hey!" Gabriel grabbed his hand and for a moment Sam thought something was wrong. "Don't wipe my kiss away! Now, you're getting two." And he did plant two big wet kisses—one above each eyebrow.

Sam stared at him in bewilderment. "What… what is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" Gabriel looked puzzled as he stood, raising them both.

"I mean," Sam sighed and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I mean you were pissed at me a few hours ago. Furious enough to draw your blade. And now you're being all… nice and goofy and it makes no sense."

"Oh, Sammy," Gabriel's face softened into a smile so sad it made Sam want to apologize and take back everything he'd just said. "No, sweetheart. There are so many things wrong with that statement—and I promise, we will discuss all of them when we get home. But even if I _am_ angry with you it does not change whether or not you deserve to be loved or comforted. Okay?"

"What?" Sam asked, more confused than ever. _Loved?_ Did he really just say that word out loud? In front of others?

"Alright, folks. It's definitely time to go." Gabriel gathered him closer. "Raphael, can you tell the guard to join us in Heart Hall? Do we have everything?"

"Wait, I—" Sam twisted to look at Bobby, suddenly unsure about leaving.

"There were some books that were left behind in my haste to get to Samuel earlier. But I can return for them later," Raphael said.

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, I don't think anyone's gonna be in the mood for lessons for a few days."

"You're _not_ bringing books back? But—" Sam whipped around to Raphael, making his head spin.

"Sam, look at me." Gabriel's voice was gentle but firm. It took Sam a second to focus—he was torn between wanting to stay awhile with Bobby and arguing with Raphael over books. But he managed to lock gazes with the archangel. "You are tired. We can visit Bobby and others again when you feel better. Raphael will come back for the books. We need to go home."

"But…" Sam whispered, not even having an argument in mind. The tingling warmth surged across his chest and back. He scrubbed at his eyes which felt itchy and wet at the same time.

"May I?" asked a gruff voice and Sam's legs tightened around Gabriel's waist at the thought of being passed around again.

"Just a quick talk and hugs. We gotta keep it short. He's crashing and we haven't even flown yet," Gabriel said in a hushed voice.

A flutter of panic worked its way through Sam's belly. _Haven't even flown yet._ He hadn't thought about the flight home. But now he was.

 _Oh God, if flying across the yard feels like it does,_ he thought as his heart pounded in his ears, _how long will it take to cross dimensions? How long did it take me to get here? It felt like… years… lifetimes… oh my God…_

"Hold on—Sammy? What's wrong?" The words sounded so far away and he barely registered the warm hand cupping his cheek. "I don't know what happened, Raphael. He just went pale and trembly."

"It is when you mentioned flying, brother," Raphael rumbled from somewhere close by.

"Oh," Gabriel's voice softened into a higher range as he gathered Sam closer. "Don't you go worrying about that, Samshine. I'm gonna be _right here_ the whole time. As will Raphael and the guard. We'll be protecting you from it as much as possible. This isn't a lesson—nothing here to learn. You'll just sit back and relax and let us do all the work, okay? Just relax, little guy, come on. I promise, you'll be okay."

The words were just noise but the tone washed over Sam like a light, warm breeze. The body holding him swayed as fingers carded through his hair. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to just breathe.

Someone began humming. They were joined by another voice—a soprano who ran a high counter descant over the deep bass. Other voices quickly combined, each adding a unique part to the unknown song.

The music thrummed through the air. Sam felt his grace respond—uncoiling and gently moving along to the rhythm from within. It was like having someone rub his back, but on the _inside._ Strange, yet soothing.

"I think someone likes that," Bobby whispered nearby.

"Oh, you have no idea," Gabriel replied just as softly. "I wish you could see his grace."

"I got eyes, boy. Don't need to see grace to see him relaxin'." The hunter huffed a small laugh. "He wasn't kidding when he said he trusted you."

Sam rubbed his face slightly against Gabriel's shirt and tried to force his eyes open. _I can hear, you know!?_ he wanted to grumble, but there was barely enough energy for listening and breathing. And his body was completely content to just float in that state of being almost physically-asleep but still mentally-conscious.

"I know you can hear us," Gabriel said with a snort. The fingers scratching lightly through his hair moved to rest over his eyes. "Don't even think about opening these, mister. All you're gonna find is my gorgeous mug glaring back at you."

 _Are you… listening to my thoughts?_

"Nooo, you are talking to me. But you can't hear me in there right now because Raphael's blocked all that off. You got a bit deafened from angel radio when you first arrived, so you're stuck with old-fashioned ear-hearing for now." Gabriel's fingers traced the outer edge of Sam's ear.

 _Stop that!_ he said, raising a shoulder to try and get the crawling sensation to stop. _And why can't I open my eyes?_

Gabriel sighed and resumed playing with Sam's hair, keeping the pressure firm so he couldn't move his head away from the archangel's shoulder. "Because you need to relax. You're already overstimulated from just _being_ in Heaven. Give your brain a break, kiddo."

 _Are we leaving now?_ he asked nervously.

"Shh, yes. We're getting ready to leave the garden in just a minute. But remember—no stressing, okay?"

 _I… I wanna say goodbye to Bobby._ Sam's fingers worried at one of the buttons on Gabriel's shirt. _Please?_

"You can absolutely say goodbye to Bobby," Gabriel murmured in his ear. "And I promise, you _will_ be back to visit him again. Okay?"

Sam nodded, but decided to hold off any real answers until after he survived the flight home. _Can I… can I see him? To say goodbye?_

Gabriel snorted. "Yeah, I think we can swing that for a few minutes."

"Swing what?" Bobby asked.

"Him gazing upon your beautiful beard while saying goodnight before we go home."

Sam poked a finger into the archangel's chest. _That is_ not _what I said!_

"Close enough!" Gabriel laughed. "Or do you mean to tell me you _don't_ think Bobby's beard is beautiful? Because that's just rude, Sam."

"Hey, my beard is exquisite. _Heavenly_ , even."

"Oh God," Sam managed to croak out. He'd never survive if Bobby and Gabriel decided to team up. It was bad enough when Dean sided with the former trickster.

"No taking our Father's name in vain while in Heaven, little fledgling," Raphael said.

Sam could _hear_ the smile in his voice and wondered how long he'd been able to pick up such things from the Healer. Then the words sunk in and he frowned. Was it blasphemy or against the rules? Could he get in trouble for such things?

"Quit teasing, Raph. Look, you made him nervous again!" Gabriel grumbled. His thumbs dug lightly into Sam's brow, easing the tension and smoothing away his frown. "Don't listen to him, Sam. He's a goody two shoes who never lets us have any fun."

Bobby huffed a laugh. "I can't see anyone preventing you from having fun if you've set your mind to it."

"Oh, you have met my brother before, have you?" Raphael asked in a wry tone.

"No, no, no," Gabriel moved quickly, keeping his hold on Sam firm. "You two are _not_ becoming friends."

 _Funny,_ Sam said to Gabriel, _I just thought the same thing of_ you _and Bobby._

"Who's to say Raphael and I ain't already friends?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, brother," Raphael interjected. "Bobby and I were already acquainted before today—and I quite enjoyed his company."

"No, this is like… a nightmare. And _you_ " Gabriel tugged lightly on Sam's hair, "can stay out of this, thank you. Take a nap or something."

Sam turned his head to hide his grin. _How am I supposed to take a nap when all the "big people" are too busy bickering about such grown up matters like pranks and who's allowed to be friends with who?_

"Okay, time to say goodnight," Gabriel announced. "This one's getting delirious with exhaustion. Poor child. Probably won't even make it all the way through a bottle when we get back."

 _Have I bitten you yet? Because I can do that. Right here, right now._

"Bless him," Gabriel said in an overly sweet voice as he turned Sam around in his arms. "Here you go, Bobby. Take the little tyke. Watch the teeth—they're sharp."

"Watch the… what?" Bobby asked, gathering Sam easily to him.

 _You're an ass,_ Sam said to Gabriel as he slowly blinked. The brightness of the Garden took a bit to filter out before he could focus on Bobby's face. "Ignore him," he whispered to the hunter. "I only bite as a last resort."

"You didn't wait till the last resort the first time you were this little," Bobby huffed.

"What?"

"You heard me—you bit as a means of introduction."

Sam blinked several times in disbelief. "I didn't _bite_ as a kid!"

Bobby laughed and crushed him in a hug. "Ask your brother. He was the one you bit the most. You got me a few times. Don't think you bit John, but he probably tasted awful."

Sam shuddered at the thought of biting his dad. That would not have gone over very well with the man. "I'm sure Dean deserved it," he finally said, pushing John from his thoughts.

"No doubt. I'm sure he still does occasionally. You tell that idjit I said hi, okay? And that I love you boys." Bobby's arms tightened.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to catch as much of the hunter's scent one last time. "I will. And we love you too, Bobby."

"Alright," Bobby sniffed, "your ass needs to go home and get in bed."

"Nooo," Sam groaned, strengthening his grip.

"Yes. You're half asleep as it is." Bobby kissed his cheek, itching Sam's skin in a familiar way with his beard. "Here's Gabriel now. I look forward to seeing you again soon—although, try to schedule it next time, okay? No more flyin' in your sleep."

"No promises," Sam mumbled, reluctantly letting go of his father figure when he felt Gabriel take hold of him.

"Yes, promises," the archangel said, settling Sam against his chest again. "We'll be making sure of it from now on."

"Gonna tether me to the bed?" Sam mumbled. His eyes closed as he felt warm grace brush over his skin.

"Nah, just tether you to myself," Gabriel answered seriously. "Alright, looks like we're all set. Bobby, it was good to see you again."

"Well, I'm glad there weren't monsters with chainsaws chasing me this time around," Bobby said wryly, then cleared his throat. "Now, you take good care of my boys. You hear me?"

"I do. And I swear on my life, I will." Gabriel's voice rang with grace and promise, and Sam jumped slightly at the sound. Fingers immediately returned to his hair, silently apologizing for startling him. When the archangel spoke again, it was in his normal tone. "Until next time, then."

"You know where to find me," Bobby called as they started walking, then added, "Ain't like I'm goin' anywhere."

Tears burned Sam's throat and eyes, making it hard to breathe without sobbing. He hated this—hated feeling torn between worlds. It was like being in a lucid dream and knowing he had to wake up soon.

It wasn't _fair_! Why did he only get to keep people in his life for such short periods of time? He'd had Bobby some as a kid, then lost him for over a decade until getting him back as an adult—only to lose him again for good after a few years.

The only person who remained a semi-constant was Dean, and even their relationship had suffered immense setbacks throughout their lives. Between Stanford and the Apocalypse, Purgatory and Gadreel, the Mark and the Darkness, it was a wonder they were still by each other's side. But within a few decades…

"Shh, it's okay," Gabriel whispered. "I promise, we'll be back. You want that blanket again? Raphael, gimme that blan—"

 _No!_ Sam shouted mentally, hitting a fist blindly against Gabriel. _I don't need a fucking blanket! I'm not a goddamn baby that needs to be swaddled and rocked, okay?!_ He couldn't breathe around his own anger and frustration. It choked him—made him want to either burrow all the way through Gabriel's chest or claw off his own skin.

A hand grasped his fist, preventing him from striking again. It quickly gathered his other fist and held them together between their chests. Sam tried to pull free but it was useless.

" **Samuel, stop.** " Gabriel's voice was quiet, but Sam found himself instantly obeying.

" **Why are you fighting me?** "

He took a deep breath but it released the sobs he'd tried so hard to keep in. " **I not know!** " Sam managed to get out past the burning in his chest.

" **Do you realize you are holding your grace back?** " Gabriel asked. He kept a firm grasp on Sam's hands as they walked out of the Garden and through the hallways.

As soon as Gabriel said the words, Sam _did_ realize it. He felt the way his grace trembled against his hold, wanting to freely curl against the archangel's own warm energies wrapped around them. Still, he didn't release it—he shouldn't _need_ to!

" **We have discussed this before, little one,** " Raphael said gently. " **Holding your grace back like that only hurts yourself.** "

Sam growled in frustration at the pet name. " **When discussed?** "

" **The very first time I healed you,** " Raphael answered. " **You refused to let it reach for Gabriel then as well.** "

" **Not need it,** " Sam ground out through gritted teeth. He tugged at his hands again to no avail.

" **What is it you think you do not need?** " Gabriel asked. " **Me? Other angels? Other grace? What?** "

" **No, no, no,** " Sam shook his head. He didn't have the right _words!_

" **Ah,** " Raphael said, sounding closer, " **you believe you do not need comfort.** "

Sam went still. That was _exactly_ the word he was looking for—but there was no way in Hell he could say that to them. How could he explain that he didn't _need_ to be constantly coddled when something went wrong? He wasn't used to it—it just felt excessive and weird and not something he should let himself grow accustomed to.

" **Wait.** " Gabriel stopped walking. " _ **That**_ **is what this has been about? This entire time? I thought you were uncomfortable being touched by our grace—not denying yourself comfort.** "

Sam did not want to talk about this. He wanted to hide his face, bury it in the archangel's shirt, but it was awkward with Gabriel still holding his hands between them. He ended up curling over them anyway, his forehead barely reaching the fabric.

"Keep your hands here," Gabriel sighed, snaking his own arm out so he could wrap it around Sam's back. "Alright, we're making a slight detour, kids. Barry, how's the nursery these days?"

"Well, it's not exactly up to housing any little rascals, but it's clean. No debris or damaged sections or excessive dust," Barachiel said quietly.

Sam flinched, forgetting the others were even there. Now he _really_ wanted to hide. Or maybe wake up in his bed and find out the whole thing had been a crazy dream.

"Wards all still work?" Gabriel asked.

"Oh, yeah—nothing but peace and quiet past those doors."

"Thank Dad," Gabriel mumbled. He hoisted Sam up slightly as they started walking again and moved a hand to the back of his head. "We aren't far, Sammy. Just a few minutes, okay?"

 _A few minutes until what?_ Sam wondered. He remembered the angels mentioning a nursery earlier—before Raphael and Gabriel had arrived. Why were they delaying when they were so close to going home?

"I want you three to wait out here," Gabriel said when they came to a stop.

"Are you certain, brother?" asked Raphael, sounding surprised.

"Yup. Morpheus and I got this."

 _Got what?_ Sam frowned and tried to raise his head but the hand held him in place. _What_ were they doing?

A door creaked open, and they walked into a room with warm air. Then, the door thudded shut behind them. The air seemed to thicken, muffling the world into complete silence.

Sam gasped—fearing his ability to breathe and hear had both suddenly left him. But warm air poured into his lungs easily. And he heard the sound without any distortions.

"Easy, kiddo," Gabriel said. "It's just the wards. They keep this room contained from the rest of Heaven—you won't hear anything over angel radio and all the grace outside this room can't seep in here."

Sam carefully opened his eyes and found that the lights were soft enough to not sear his vision. The room was… not what he'd expected. Of course, what _could_ he expect from an angel nursery when fledglings weren't supposed to have physical form?

"What… is this?" he asked, looking around at what appeared to be large round tubes against the walls and an empty, shallow swimming pool in the center of the room. The walls were round, painted either grey or a weird purple, and had three carpeted steps running along the edges that led to the tubes.

"It's Heaven's nursery. Where they raised fledglings," Gabriel explained. He sounded sad as they looked at all the old equipment.

"This is the ugliest nursery I've ever seen," Sam blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Gabriel startled, then laughed. "You know, you're absolutely right. Angels have no sense of style. Also, you guys don't usually have eyes to see things like wall colors. But I'll have to show you around here and explain everything another day. That's not why we're here right now."

"Can I _please_ walk?" Sam asked quickly. He still wasn't sure what exactly they'd come here for, but he felt he needed some space first. The carpet looked clean enough. And if the wards blocked off all the grace from Heaven, then Gabriel didn't need to keep holding him.

"You sure?" Gabriel frowned.

"You said the wards blocked everything, right?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Then, you shouldn't need to hold me, right?" Sam swung his feet, itching to get down.

"I don't think your grace is gonna like it though," Gabriel warned.

"My grace can deal," Sam scoffed. His grace didn't like a lot of things. It would get over it.

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Does that mean you'd like me to take the wrap off as well while we're in here?"

Sam thought of the warm tingly energy that the archangel had continuously renewed through the evening. It had helped buffer the rest of the angels—but it also contained so much _emotion_. It might be nice to have a reprieve from it as well. "Yeah," he said, looking away. "As long as it's not hard for you to re-apply it. Right?"

"Nah," Gabriel ruffled his hair and the tingling dispersed. "It's super easy. Alright, I'm just gonna set you down here. You come sit with me on the steps over there, okay?"

"Umm, yeah?" Sam said with a frown. "You don't have to give me that many directions…"

Gabriel carefully sat him on the floor and stepped back.

A storm seemed to explode from within. Some unknown force propelled Sam forward, his hands barely able to stop him from face-planting into the floor. Nausea made every inch of his skin chill. He swallowed and his shoulders twisted, flinging him forward again.

 _What is that?_ he wondered, reaching one hand back to feel his along his shoulders. Something shocked his fingers and he cried out, yanking his hand away. _Angry! Angry! Angry!_

Hands lifted him from the floor, quelling the nausea and dizziness. His shoulders spasmed until his face hit fabric. A wheezing whine filled his ears and it took a minute for Sam to realize the noise was coming from his own breathing.

"Okay, okay. Calm down. It's all over. No more experimenting. I got you." Gabriel's voice cooed softly as he swayed them back and forth. Golden grace quickly returned to wrap around Sam's skin, gradually soothing the raging storm underneath. " **There you go. Slow, deep breaths.** **You are safe.** "

" **What…?** " Sam tried to ask, but he couldn't find more words. _What was that? What happened? What IS happening?_

"Shh, I'll explain," Gabriel promised, moving to sit on the steps, "just take a moment to breathe and catch your bearings." He cradled Sam's head in the crook of his left arm and pulled his knees so they rested on the steps to the right of Gabriel's waist.

Sam curled in tighter, hiding his face against the archangel's arm. His whole body shook with the aftereffects of whatever had just occurred. He clutched at the shirt, knowing he was probably pinching the skin underneath but unable to be gentler.

The arm not holding Sam's head wrapped around his waist and held him closer, the hand smoothing down his wings with an extra layer of grace. They sat there, swaying in silence, for several minutes. Sam's breathing slowly evened out and stopped making whimpering noises without his permission.

"You feel up to talking a little now, Samshine?" Gabriel asked quietly.

"Wanna go home," Sam muttered into the fabric.

"I know you do." Gabriel shifted him back a bit so his face wasn't hidden anymore. "But here's the thing—we can't fly if you're holding your grace back like that."

"I won't!" Sam blinked his eyes open in a panic.

"I know you won't," Gabriel agreed with a smile, "because we are going to talk about it and reach an understanding before we go!"

Sam wanted to argue. He wanted to rail against the idea of being kept in Heaven a second longer! But behind Gabriel's smile was a firm resolve that no argument could shake. So, instead of fighting, he nodded.

"Wise decision, padawan! Now, first thing's first," Gabriel's grin slid away into a more serious expression, "why do you think your grace should just 'deal with' not having what it needs?"

"I… What?" Sam stared up at him. "I never said that!"

"You did. I told you your grace would not like it if I put you down, and you said it could deal with it."

"But… but liking something isn't the same as needing it!" Sam insisted.

"Okay, I should have phrased that better." Gabriel nodded. "What would you have said if I'd told you your grace _needed_ me to keep holding you?"

"I…" Sam paused. He would have demanded reasons why and still argued against it.

"What if I told you this is something your grace needs every day?" Gabriel asked in a softer voice.

"What?! No, it doesn't." Sam frowned and tried to sit up.

Gabriel helped him but kept him on his lap. "Why do you think it doesn't need it?"

"Well, for one thing, I've never had _that_ happen before!" Sam gestured toward the floor where he'd been set down a few minutes ago. He startled when he almost hit Morpheus who sat silently next to them. "Sorry, Morph! I forgot you were here."

Morpheus just chuffed and licked his face.

"You've had smaller incidents of that happening. I don't think you even knew it was your grace sometimes," Gabriel said, directing Sam's attention back toward him with a finger on his chin. "We've been doing the bare minimum to keep your grace sustained. And it's time we did better."

"I don't understand," Sam admitted.

"I know, kiddo. See, we've all been mostly concerned with that old-man brain in there." Gabriel tapped Sam's temples lightly. "The problem is you've got too many ages mixed together and we've kinda overlooked the most important."

"What?"

"How old are you, Sam?"

"I…" Sam started, then shut his mouth.

Gabriel nodded. "Exactly. Too many ages mixed together. Your soul is two hundred and twenty-three. Your physical appearance and driver's license a couple months ago said thirty-four years old. Now, you look about six. But then there's your grace."

Sam rubbed his chest. "Isn't it, like, the oldest thing about me?"

"Interesting assumption. Why would you think that?"

"It came from Chuck. And He's the oldest thing around, being God and all, so I guess I figured…" Sam shrugged as he trailed off.

"Well, your theory has some merit. Except for a few key bits." Gabriel grinned and Sam felt his stomach drop, already knowing he wouldn't like what he'd hear. "One—if your grace was considered as old as dear old Dad, then you'd be seen as the _oldest_ archangel instead of the youngest member of the entire host. And two—you _do_ know how babies are made, right?"

"What?! Yes!" Sam blushed, wondering where the archangel could possibly be going with his second point.

"Good! Then you know that babies aren't the same age as their parents just because they're _made_ from bits from their parents?" Gabriel asked with an eyebrow raised.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes in defeat. "Okay, so my grace is _not_ old."

"Kiddo, your grace is exactly thirty-nine days old." Gabriel's voice sounded odd—sad and weighted, like there was more he was saying that Sam wasn't hearing.

"So, what does that mean? That my grace is like a baby?" Sam peered up at Gabriel through his messy curls, searching the archangel's face.

Gabriel brushed the curls out of Sam's eyes and cupped his face. "It means _you_ , as an angel, are a baby, Sam. Yes, by human standards you are an adult—an _ancient_ adult who's lived a few lifetimes over. But no matter which number you go by—two hundred and twenty-three years or thirty-nine days—you are still a baby by angel standards."

"Ugh, I get it. I'm the 'new baby in the family' or whatever," Sam pulled his face out of Gabriel's hands, "but so what? _What does that mean?_ And how does that get us home?"

"It _means_ that I have been neglecting you as Flock Alpha. As has Raphael, as head Healer. We've all been so focused on making sure Sam-the-adult is comfortable with the transition that we've failed to care for you as a fledgling," Gabriel said seriously.

"That's stupid, Gabriel," Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "No one's neglected or failed me. Certainly not you or Raphael."

"Oh, sweetheart. How would you even know?"

Sam scowled even as his mouth went dry. "I… You've fed us every day. And hang out with us and make sure the bunker doesn't collapse under the laundry and dishes we don't do."

"Feeding you _every day_ and keeping you and our home clean is minimum _human_ care, Sam."

"You also teach me grace-stuff! And there's daily grooming," Sam heard his own hysteria rising but Gabriel _had_ to know! "You have all been like a flock of mother hens! I can't turn around without someone fretting over me. And I know Dean loves it too! He's never laughed so much or slept so well—ever! I don't understand how you can say that you're…"

"Shh, it's okay." Gabriel cupped his face again, using his thumbs to wipe away tears Sam didn't realize he was shedding. "You don't _know_ what fledglings need, Sam. That's not your job—it's mine."

"But you haven't failed!" Sam yelled, pushing Gabriel's hands away. "And I know what I need!"

"You do, do you? And what is it you need?" Gabriel moved his hands to Sam's hips, keeping him steady on his lap.

"I _need_ to go home!"

Gabriel gave him a sad smile. "And what does your grace need?"

"It needs to grow the hell up and quit being so goddamn needy all the time!" The words flew out of Sam's mouth before he knew what he was saying. He saw his own shock reflected back on the archangel's face.

Golden eyes flashed with grace as they narrowed and then Gabriel nodded once as though in sudden understanding. His hands gently moved Sam until he sat sideways, leaning against the archangel's chest. "That… is a very specific thing to say."

Sam shrugged. Tension flooded his muscles so quickly that a fine tremor ran through them. He clamped his hands together, hoping to keep it from becoming noticeable—an impossible task when sitting on the lap of an archangel.

"I wonder, who said those words to you before, hmm?" Gabriel mused softly.

Sam stared down at his toes without answering. He knew _exactly_ who had said those words to him repeatedly as a child. But there was absolutely _no way_ he was discussing this—not here, not now, not ever!

Gabriel sighed, swaying slightly while rubbing Sam's back. It was disconcerting just how comforting and uncomfortable the gestures felt at once. "I know Bobby asked you this earlier, but I need to ask you too—do you trust me, Sam? Really trust me?"

Sam glanced up at him in surprise and nodded. Of course he trusted Gabriel! Why would he even ask?

"Then let me rephrase that," the archangel continued. "When you were growing up, what did John do if you were scared or upset or crying?"

Memories floated to the surface of his mind as though summoned no matter how hard he tried to push them back down. Being terrified of a storm that knocked out the power at four years old. Having to change schools for the first time at six years old. Dean suddenly disappearing while on a food run, leaving Sam alone in an empty motel room for four days before his dad returned to find him starving and panicked at twelve years old.

 _Buck up and quit your crying. You're a hunter, not some sissy civilian. Quit being a baby, or I'll give you something to cry about!_

The words had been said often enough with little variation. And there were always consequences if he failed to obey them. He shuddered at the memories, trying again to bury them.

His grace had another idea.

A sharp pain tore through his head and spine as his grace wrenched itself out from his control. Sam gasped as he _felt_ and _saw_ the memories transfer to Gabriel as clearly as speaking over angel radio. Knew it was too late when the archangel's vessel tensed under him. He could only angrily throttle the rogue energy, clench his eyes shut, and wait for the fallout.

" **You are safe here, Samuel,** " Gabriel's ragged voice broke the silence. " **Only I could hear you.** **And nothing you reveal will reach another's ears without your permission.** "

Gabriel's fingers trailed down Sam's neck, then pressed into the spot that forced his wings to relax completely against his back. Raphael had only done that a couple times before, but it was always an odd sensation. The fingers at his back circled around to take his hands and smooth a thumb over his aching palm.

" **Your words will stay with me, little one,** " Gabriel promised as he brought his other hand up to rest on Sam's chest. Fingers drummed lightly against his thin sleep shirt, calling to the tightly held grace underneath. " **I told you this once before but I said it the wrong way—you are a fledgling. A child, by Heaven's standards, and a member of my flock. My fledgling. My child. My responsibility. My business.** "

Sam wanted to twist away from the tender tone and deny the words. It wasn't being said in a fierce steely voice or yelled in anger, and yet the softness seemed more painful. In grace-fueled Enochian, each whispered phrase rang like a binding vow. He shook his head and tried to push Gabriel away, but the archangel held him in place with little effort.

" **I know this is hard, Samuel. You are tired and this wound is very old.** " Gabriel's hand stopped tapping and simply splayed out fully across Sam's chest, infusing him with warmth and love. " **But it is keeping me from caring for you properly. You are mine, remember? Mine to care for and nurture and protect and comfort. And not even Samuel Winchester is going to stop me from taking care of Samuel Winchester anymore, understand?** "

Their graces reached for each other—ancient and infant. Sam tried to hold it back, regardless of the sharp pain it caused throughout his body. But Gabriel wouldn't allow him to physically curl inward.

" **Take deep breaths for me. Come on. Deep breaths, relax, and let go of your grace, Samuel.** " Gabriel slowly leaned him back so he laid in the crook of the archangel's arm again. The hand on his chest rubbed gentle circles over his sternum. " **What your father said and did was wrong. Existence alone is enough reason to cry, little one. And you have experienced more than your fair share of pain. You do not have to ignore it anymore. No more locking it away or fearing** _ **more**_ **pain if you let someone see a glimpse of it. Can you stop holding onto it so tight? Can you trust me to hold it for you, Samuel?** "

Sam tried to curl onto his side again—anything to feel less exposed and vulnerable. It was too much too fast. They'd just had a fucking fight before bed! How could they be _here_ only hours later?

When Gabriel's hands prevented him from hiding again, Sam choked out a sob. " **Please, no!** "

"' **No' what, Samuel?** "

" **No more talk!** "

" **Why do you not wish to talk?** "

Sam shook his head. Tears were building behind eyelids he kept so tightly shut they were starting to hurt. He couldn't just let go—not after decades and centuries of clinging to it. Somedays, that pain was the only thing left that was still _Sam_. How could he give that to someone else?

" **Or do you just not wish for** _ **me**_ **to talk?** " Gabriel asked when Sam didn't continue. A frustrated growl worked its way out of Sam's throat as he pushed at the ground with his legs. The archangel chuckled. " **Raphael is correct—you are** _ **very**_ **fierce indeed. But that will not get you home without this conversation.** "

" **Why!?** "

" **Because, my fledgling, I must fly us through dimensions to get us from Heaven to Earth. It will not be an easy trip for you—even with two archangels and two seraphs there for protection. I cannot risk you trying to yank back control of your grace mid-flight. Samuel, look at me please.** "

Sam shook his head again. He knew the second he opened his eyes it would unleash a torrent of tears that were caged behind straining lids. The hand on his chest moved up to cup his face—the thumb rubbing under his eye and up over his brow bone.

" **Open your eyes, Samuel. I promise, I will not go away simply because you cannot see me.** "

The temptation to bite the hand was strong, but he refrained—mostly because he knew it wouldn't even damage the archangel. Instead, he tried to bring his hands up get rid of the tears before they could fall. Gabriel didn't ease up his hold.

" **Fuck you!** " Sam yelled.

" **There we go. Let it out!** " Gabriel encouraged, rubbing along Sam's jaw and neck to keep the muscles loose. " **No more hiding—not yourself or your pain.** "

Sam's breath caught and he chewed his lip. The hand returned to his chest and resumed drumming out a light rhythm. His grace was furious, lashing out viciously until he could no longer hold onto it. He felt it break free and rush toward Gabriel's waiting grace.

His eyes snapped open in panic. " **No!** "

Gabriel's smile was blinding. " **You are alright, Samuel. I got you. There we go.** **Shh, deep breaths.** "

Terror and rage coiled in Sam's belly—emotions not attached to specific memories of events or times or faces and not connected to the present either, yet still overwhelmingly recognizable. Warmth poured into his chest, countering his violent storm with calm stillness. Sam tried to pull the storm back to him but it was no use.

A small sob escaped him, quickly followed by another. He kicked his legs out of sheer helpless frustration. " **Stop!** "

" **Stop what, little one?** " Gabriel asked steadily.

" **You stop being nice!** **Stop!** "

" **How do you wish me to act instead, hmm?** "

Sam glared up at him. Tears ran freely down his face but he could do nothing to stop or hide them—not when his hands were still being held in a too-gentle grasp. He turned to Morpheus, hoping to find an ally. The canine was watching with sad blue eyes and nuzzled Sam's hair.

"He says," Gabriel cleared his throat, sounding overcome by emotion. "He says that he will not wash your face until you are finished draining this wound. But that he is here with you."

Some of the intense fight drained out of Sam, leaving him lethargic. He closed his eyes and turned his head into Gabriel's arm, just wanting to go to sleep and wake up in his bed. No one asked _him_ if this "wound" needed draining—he'd covered it in enough bandages and cloths in hopes that the damn thing would just rot off unnoticed.

"No, no, Samshine. No more hiding," Gabriel coaxed, nudging his chin with fingers.

Sam blinked up at him, trying to clear his vision enough to focus on the archangel's face. "I don't know what you want from me, Gabriel," he whispered.

"I know," Gabriel said with a sad smile. "How do you _think_ I should act? Like John? Should I shove weapons in your hand and scream at you for showing emotion? And if you can't stop, should I throw you in a cold shower or slap you around or maybe take a belt to your butt so you'd have a _real_ reason to cry?"

Sam froze, eyes wide in shock. He'd known Gabriel had seen his memories. But to hear him describe those events out loud—events that had never been spoken about and some Dean didn't even know happened—was like a punch to the gut!

Gabriel continued speaking in the same calm tone as his hand resumed rubbing gentle circles on Sam's chest. "The real question is _why_ you'd rather I act like John. I think I have it narrowed down to two possibilities. Either you really did agree with his assessment of you and believe you deserved that treatment. Or you only know how to react to someone treating you like John did—and the idea of being cared for and adored scares the shit out of you more than being belittled and beaten."

"My dad didn't… he didn't beat me," Sam mumbled, ashamed of even the word.

"Father help me," Gabriel sighed heavily and shook his head. "That is a conversation for another day. The fact is, I will never be John. And regardless of the reason why you keep pushing for me to 'stop being nice' or refusing to allow yourself comfort from any of the flock, you are _not_ going to get the outcome you want."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Come here," Gabriel said, shifting him upright so Sam was in his usual place—against the archangel's chest, face tucked against his neck. Tingly warmth swept across his skin and infused downward into his grace. "It means I am going to be Gabriel, your Flock Alpha. I am going to love and protect all the members of my flock—human and angel. And you are mine—my fledgling, my child, my responsibility. Your grace is less than two months old, Sam-a-lam. And it has had to sort through over two centuries of memories—most of which are trauma and torture. It is _hurting._ It is _scared._ It does _not_ need to be told to grow up. And it definitely doesn't need an angel blade."

Small trembles worked their way through Sam's limbs. He chewed his lip as his breathing grew faster. The tingling heat of Gabriel's grace intensified, flooding under his skin and filling his entire torso. He felt his own grace respond and it was _too much._

Gabriel's fingers dug into the muscles of his lower back, easing the tension there while his other hand carded through his hair and scratched at his scalp. " **You are also hurting and scared. And you do not need to grow up faster or arm yourself with an angel blade either**."

He choked on the first real sob—a high, desperate sound that he'd never heard himself make. Gabriel's hand slipped under his thin shirt and soothed along his spine, leaving a blazing trail of heat across his skin. Another sob burst past his bit lips, wet and loud.

" **There we go. Let it out. I got you.** " Gabriel swayed on the steps as he murmured encouragements, never hushing him.

Their graces interacted on a level Sam had never experienced before—like Gabriel was holding him on the inside the same way he held his physical body. His hands clung to the archangel's shirt, wringing the fabric in a frantic attempt to get closer. Everything burned from his eyes to his toes and he didn't know what to _do_ with it all!

" **No, no, no. No tensing up. Relax and breathe.** "

Another rush of calming energy flowed through Sam, releasing the tension in his muscles. And that was all he needed. One large breath filled his lungs and he was gone on the exhale.

He cried hard. Loud, angry sobbing that occasionally turned to wails poured from his mouth and there was no containing them. Not when he felt his grace wailing with him—could practically _see_ the two-month-old infant Gabriel described being forced to experience the tortures of the Cage as its own. It made him cry harder at the tragedy and unfairness of it all.

" **I know. I know. It is not easy. But you are doing so good. You** _ **are**_ **so good, Samuel. There you go.** "

Sam didn't know how long he cried. It felt like a lifetime. Every time he thought he was finished, a new wave of fury or grief would crash over him.

Through it all, Gabriel never ceased his words of reassurance. His grace completely covered Sam inside and out—and Sam had no desire to push it away anymore. If anything, he feared the moment they would need to part ways and tried to grasp it tighter.

He knew the separation would rip his grace from the shards of his soul and leave him gutted. But it was too late—he'd already let Gabriel in. How could he ever hope to survive?

* * *

Gabriel held Sam through his violent tears, wishing he could do more than just rock him. The agony emanating off the boy was sickening. It rolled through the tiny grace-soul and Gabriel could only wrap his own grace around it and draw the pain away.

Sometimes, memories flickered across their bond. He saw images of Lucifer, the Cage, John, demons, and others he couldn't name. Sam's cries would grow louder with each one and he began pulling Gabriel's grace toward him instead of pushing it away.

The relief of finally getting to hold the young grace was mixed with the sadness of having to battle a child over the chance to comfort him.

It took over an hour for the sobs to quiet down. By then, the boy's grace and body were melted against him. _Thank you, Father!_ he thought, hoping his Dad caught his gratitude wherever He happened to be.

There was a small spike of fear as the kid's grace burrowed further into him and tiny fingers dug tighter into Gabriel's shirt. "Oh, Sam," Gabriel laughed, holding him closer too, "I'm not letting you go anytime soon, kiddo. Not after fighting so hard to get here. No, I'm afraid you're gonna be stuck with me for quite a long time."

Sam's breath gave a slight hitch at the proclamation. Gabriel just kept swaying and rubbing his back. He felt Sam turn his head, trying to wipe his face, but everything on Gabriel's neck and shoulder was soaked in tears and sweat and snot.

"Okay, sweetheart. I think it's time to do some clean up. What do you say, hmm?" he asked quietly without pulling Sam away. The kid nodded and peeled his face from Gabriel's neck to reveal… a mess. "Oh, yeah. Definitely clean up time."

Gabriel snapped up a bowl of cool water and a cloth. But before he could use it, Morpheus began systematically lapping away the main bulk of the tears and snot. Sam even turned his face and let him get the other side when the canine nosed at the boy's chin.

Dipping the cloth into the water, he rung it out and brought it to Sam's face. "Here we go," he whispered, wiping the puffy pink skin around his eyes and nose. "This should feel better."

An unexpected tongue against Gabriel's neck made him jump. _Hold still, Gabrieloki. You need cleaning too._

"Well, I guess it's bath time for all of us," Gabriel said wryly.

Sam's eyes were dazed but trying to focus on Morpheus as he licked down into the juncture between Gabriel's neck and shoulder. It tickled, making Gabriel laugh and squirm and pull a face. Sam stared at him as though not quite sure what he was seeing.

"You with us, kiddo?" he asked, running the washcloth lightly down the bridge of Sam's nose. The boy scrunched up his nose and pulled away but didn't answer. His breathing stayed calm and his grace was humming pleasantly—he just seemed out of it. "That's okay, Sam. You don't have to talk anymore."

Hazel eyes darted up to meet his. _Really?_ echoed loudly through their grace. There was equal parts disbelief and surprise in his tone.

Gabriel smiled and kissed his forehead. "Yes, really. You have talked enough already. I'm very proud of you, Sam. What you did was very hard, and you did it anyway. Thank you." He pulled back and rewetted the cloth to clean Sam's neck. "Almost done. Then we can go home, okay?"

Sam nodded and gave him a small smile.

Another snap got rid of the bowl and dried Gabriel's shirt. "Perfect! Now Barry can't tell me I made extra work for him in the nursery. How do I look? Did Morpheus give me a hickey?"

Morpheus chuffed and nipped at his ear when he turned his head to show Sam. _Do not tempt me, Gabrieloki. I can leave more than a hickey._

"Yikes! I'm just saying—last time someone licked my neck that much, I had something to show for it." Gabriel winked at Sam and got a half-giggle for his efforts. It sounded like tiny chimes ringing in the air. Literal music to his ears. "Alright. You ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

Sam glanced at the door nervously, then back at Gabriel. He nodded, trying not to reveal the extent of his anxiety. But Gabriel felt it all through their entwined grace.

"Don't worry, kiddo. I got ya. And I ain't letting you go, okay?" Gabriel meant the words on so many levels—more than applied to just this moment. He reached out his hands. "Come here you."

Sam's arms came up automatically, allowing himself to be lifted as they stood. The boy didn't put his arms around Gabriel's neck though. Instead, he kept them tucked between their chests, his fingers playing with the buttons and seams of Gabriel's shirt. It wasn't until a finger actually made its way _inside_ his shirt that he realized Sam was trying to get closer—even if it was unconscious.

The boy was beyond starved for touch and affection. Gabriel had felt it the second his hand made contact with the skin on Sam's back—his entire _being_ had lit up. It wasn't just his grace that needed handling more.

Gabriel grinned as a solution struck him and he turned back to kneel on the floor by the bottom step. "Ok, I know this is awkward. But trust me. Stand on this step and hold onto my neck for a second."

There were a few moments of maneuvering and grumpy grunts, but Sam eventually managed to get into position. Gabriel quickly took his jacket and zipped it up around them both. The boy's size meant that his butt rested just at the base of the jacket, allowing him to use it like a seat.

As soon as Sam was wrapped tightly against him, his nerves seemed to settle. Gabriel tucked the boy's arms back inside and zipped the jacket up to the top, making sure it didn't catch his curls. When he stood back up, it was very easy to just slip an arm under his thighs to keep him from slipping out.

"I've already reapplied all the protections to you and your grace. So, when I open this door, you shouldn't feel anything beyond maybe a cool rush of air. That'll just be the loss of the wards from the nursery. You'll still be completely protected—even more than you were before we stepped in here, okay?" Gabriel explained.

Sam nodded against him. There was a small flutter of anxiety but nothing like the rolling panic of earlier. The young grace remained nestled against Gabriel just as the boy sighed and stretched an arm across the archangel's chest.

 _Good. He can be close and not curled in on himself,_ Gabriel thought. The tension and curling up were ways of closing off, making one's self less vulnerable. It was why he tried to keep Sam relaxed during the whole lead-up to crying, knowing the boy's body would take over if he'd just let it.

The door creaked open to reveal the very worried faces of Raphael and two caretakers.

Gabriel gave them his brightest grin. "Miss us?"

"You were gone for a very long time, brother." Raphael looked them over, his eyes rapidly moving over the child tucked inside Gabriel's jacket. _**Is he well?**_

Gabriel nodded and closed the door once Morpheus was clear of it. "I know, but that's what you get when you let me, a magic dog, and a fledgling into a nursery by ourselves without supervision. Don't worry—I cleaned up my mess!" He started walking toward Heart Hall and the others were left with no choice but to follow.

 _ **Gabriel, are**_ **you** _ **well?**_ Raphael asked him, his tone soft even in his mind.

 _ **I am fine, Raphael,**_ Gabriel waved him off. _**It was very difficult. But I was able to get through to him. We are safe to fly back to Earth now.**_

Raphael sighed. _**You are upset, little hummingbird.**_

 _ **I am.**_ Gabriel could barely contain the rage that he'd held back the past hour or so. Seeing Sam's memories through the boy's own eyes, feeling his fear and pain and helplessness, had almost been his undoing. _**But I cannot talk about it without Samuel's permission. I made a promise.**_

 _ **Of course, brother. I am just concerned. It is rare to see you so…**_

 _ **Angry?**_ Gabriel glanced to his right, allowing Raphael to _see_ the rage in his eyes. He had to be very careful not to allow the emotions to seep through his grace.

 _ **Yes. Angry. It is not an emotion you embraced often.**_ Raphael stared at him in open concern.

 _ **Oh, but I am the Archangel of Justice. Surely, I was allowed righteous wrath?**_

 _Gabriel?_ Sam's sleepy voice interrupted.

He almost tripped in his haste to stop. Tightening his hold on the boy, Gabriel ran a hand over the curly hair sticking out of the top of the jacket. "Yeah, Sammy?"

 _It's okay. You can just tell him you're mad at my dad. As long as…_ Little fingers fiddled nervously with a button again. _Just don't go into all the details maybe? I dunno._

"Can you _hear_ us, sweetheart?" Gabriel asked in a low murmur, bringing his head closer to Sam's ear. He'd kept the muffling protections of Raphael's in place for a reason.

 _I can hear you. Not Raphael._ Sam shrugged—an awkward move when inside someone else's jacket with them.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I was trying to be quiet enough…" A pinch to his side made him jump and close his mouth.

 _I said it's okay. I… I can tell you're not mad at_ me.

"You can?" Gabriel asked, relief sweeping through him. Words were one thing—but it was the rage itself that he'd most wanted to keep away from Sam.

 _Yeah. I can tell you're mad. But it's not at me. It's weird… inside._

" _You're_ weird inside," Gabriel whispered teasingly. He got another pinch in retaliation followed by another half-giggle.

The seraphs and Healer all turned at the sound. In fact, doors all along the hallway were opening and heads peered out in search of the long-forgotten noise. Hope and awe shone on all their faces.

Gabriel smirked and reached his hand around in search of a bare foot. "But not _nearly_ as weird as you are on the outside," he said, trailing fingertips along the arch of the exposed sole.

"Fucking asshole!" Sam screamed, laughing as he dug his own fingertips into the archangel's ribs. He tried to squirm away, but the jacket held him in place. "This is _not_ fair! Raphael, I'm calling foul play on your brother!"

"Yes, that _does_ sound like Gabriel. Do you require assistance?" Raphael called with a smile. Then, he raised an eyebrow to Gabriel. _**May I approach him, brother?**_

Gabriel's wings puffed a little in response, but he forced them down. It was hard to _not_ be territorial with flock members after such intense grace bonding—which was why Raphael was being so cautious. He smiled and nodded to the Healer as he continued the light assault on his fledgling's foot.

"Oh, you think _Raph_ is gonna help you, do you? Good luck with that!" he drawled out over Sam's laughs. "What are you gonna do—quote rules at us?"

"Hmm," Raphael hummed thoughtfully. He motioned to pull the zipper down a little on the jacket and Gabriel nodded. The Healer carefully unzipped the jacket enough to reveal the boy's pink sweaty face. "Hello, Samuel. Could you use a little help?"

Sam tucked his hair behind his ears and nodded without moving his head away from Gabriel's chest.

Raphael moved closer and whispered in the boy's ear, "You may have better luck using your grace to get his wings. Especially midway on the second set and the very tips of his first set."

"Oh!" Sam gasped, eyes bright and wide with excitement.

"Nope, nope, nope!" Gabriel pushed Raphael away and zipped the hoodie back up. "No wing tickling until we're back on Earth, _thank you brother._ I'm calling a truce!" With their luck, Sam would get too enthusiastic and burn half of Gabriel's wings with lightning before they were done.

It didn't take them long to reach Heart Hall. Most of the angels had cleared out from earlier—probably Michael's orders. Oddly enough, the Commander himself had chosen to wait around with Sariel. Gabriel frowned at him, wondering why the eldest archangel would remain when he knew his presence caused Sam discomfort.

"My apologies, Gabriel. I meant to be in the Garden already. I have a meeting with Bobby Singer there soon but I got caught up in conversation. I trust all is well?" Michael looked them all over, frowning slightly as he looked at the boy.

Sam tensed inside the jacket at Michael's voice. Gabriel rushed to assure him, wrapping even more grace around the fledgling and running his fingers through his hair. _**Shh, little one. He will not come near you nor touch you. You are safe now.**_

 _ **I was told you left the Garden quite a while ago,**_ the Commander's voice whispered in Gabriel's mind.

Because _of course_ Michael knew they'd left the Garden over an hour ago. _Damn overprotective older brothers,_ Gabriel sighed to himself. "All is well, bro. Just swung by the nursery to show Sammy all the gloriousness he'd be missing out on by _not_ staying in the grey-purple room full of creepy tanks. He thinks we all need to take decorating classes and I have to agree with him on that. Our nursery definitely sucks to any little one who has, like, actual eyes."

Michael tilted his head, unsure whether or not to be amused. "I will take that under advisement. Are you returning to the bunker?"

"Yup!" Gabriel said loudly. He saw the sad glances being exchanged between the two Caretakers and rolled his eyes. "And I'm taking Barry with us. We obviously need another guard member if this little tyke can slip out unnoticed like that. And I think we could use a second Caretaker on hand."

Michael turned to the seraphs who were staring at Gabriel in shock and smiled. "Of course, Gabriel. Anything you need is yours."

"Oh, Sammy, what do you think we should say we need, hmm? A luxury jet? Waterpark built into the woods? Maybe a chocolate river?" A hard pinch silenced him again.

 _How about a gag for rambling archangels?_ Sam grumped.

"Never mind. We'll get back to you on the chocolate river. I think we just want to go home right now."

"Then I wish you safe travels, brothers. And I shall take my leave." Michael nodded to them all and swiftly exited the Hall for the Garden. Several seraphs trailed after him, leaving only a dozen to witness their flight. Sariel broke off from the group and moved to stand beside Nuriel.

One angel approached Raphael carrying a bag. " **Sir? I brought the items you requested.** "

" **Ah, yes! Thank you very much. You have saved me a trip and possibly a few tears, I believe,** " Raphael said with a smile.

Gabriel moved closer to peek inside the bag and snorted. The cloth seams were nearly bursting from the weight of the books packed within. Although, from what he could see, they were much smaller and easier material to digest than the previous tomes the Healer had brought for their newest sibling.

"Nerds," he whispered.

 _What is it?_ Sam asked.

Gabriel grinned, happy to feel the boy's curiosity stirring now that his anxiety was tempered by grace. "Raph got your books delivered to him here. I think he's brought three times more than last time."

There was a surge of joy that went through the boy at the mention of books. But it contained a spark of shame and fear. Clearly, they still had some things to resolve when they returned home.

"Sir?" Sariel squinted at Gabriel in a confused way.

"Why do you keep calling me that, Sariel?" Gabriel groaned. She didn't answer—just kept staring at him. "Fine. What is it?"

"Is it customary for humans to carry their young inside their clothing?" she asked, looking pointedly at Sam.

Gabriel laughed loud enough to echo through the Hall. "No, Sariel. I've decided to be a trendsetter! In fact, if we get Morpheus to shift down and stuff him into Sam's shirt, then we can be like a magical turducken!"

He cackled at his own joke, not expecting anyone else to even get the reference. All the blank faces staring back at him just added to his merriment. But the sudden giggling from Sam was the best surprise.

Silence fell as the beautiful sound drew the attention of everyone in the Hall.

"Well, it's good to know _someone_ in this family has a sense of humor!" Gabriel said when he could speak again.

"You need to ask Dean about the time he got stoned off a turducken sandwich," Sam managed to say between his laughter.

"Oh my Dad, that sounds like a story!" Gabriel gasped in delight.

Raphael nodded to him, indicating that it was time to go. The Healer then knelt down to speak with Morpheus. Sariel, Nuriel, and Barachiel joined him when he gestured them over.

"Alright, Sam. We're about ready to go in a minute, okay?" he said quietly.

Sam's fingers tightened their hold on his shirt. "Is it… can I keep my eyes closed?"

Gabriel could hear so many unasked questions in those first two words. _Is it going to hurt? Is it going to be okay? Is it going to last forever? Is it going to be bad?_ He sighed and pressed a kiss to Sam's temple. "Yeah, bud. You can keep your eyes closed and stay right where you are the whole time. I'm going to dope you up on some extra grace, too. Okay? So it won't feel as long while we're flying. You'll be awake but loopy. Kinda like that gas at the dentist's office. Have you ever had that?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "I guess that'll be okay. I don't really want to feel like I can't breathe that long."

"I know, sweetheart." Gabriel started to increase the layers of grace around the boy, upping the intensity past what he usually used. He'd groomed Sam often enough to know his limits—had accidentally sent him into "somewhat stoned" levels in the early days. Now, it was intentional. "Hey, you know that song 'The Twelve Days of Christmas?'"

"Um, think so?" Sam mumbled, already feeling the effects.

"Well, when we start flying, I want you to start on the twelfth day in your head and sing it all the way down to 'and a partridge in a pear tree' for me, okay? And we'll be home!"

Tiny fingers wormed their way past the buttons to brush against skin. "Promise?"

" **I promise, little one.** " Gabriel kissed his head one more time and nodded to Raphael. The angels stood and gathered closer. " **Time to go home.** "

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE  
** HUGE SHOUTOUT TO MY DARLINGS: MonPetitTresor, TalkingToMyselfAgain, WhinyWingedWinchester, and ScrollingKingfisher...you four especially have seen me through these past two months. You are the reason there is a chapter that exists to read. You are the reason I am even still here. So...thank you

OMFG-TWO MONTHS!  
TWO MONTHS SINCE AN UPDATE AND A LIFETIME HAS PASSED!  
Thank you ALL for your patience. I've had several life-changing events occur including new meds and a break up (I was engaged, for those who didn't know). Now, I'm looking at moving and job searching and all kinds of FUN things.  
But I'm still here. I'm still writing. I'm still alive! And I want to thank ALL OF YOU for sticking with me and this series...because it has really been keeping me going through this difficult time...even when I could only write a sentence or two a day.  
NOW, this chapter...did NOT go according to plan! So, next chapter, we will have an interlude where we get to see EVERYTHING THAT'S BEEN HAPPENING AT THE BUNKER SINCE SAM FLEW OUTTA THERE!  
THANK YOU AGAIN!


	41. Teach Your Children pt12

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
** **PART 12: THE ONE THEY PICK** **  
**

* * *

 _ **Previously at the Bunker**  
_

The guard sat on high alert along the perimeter of the Messenger's nest. It was rare for both archangels to leave the premises at the same time. But there was an important meeting tonight regarding the imminent invasion of the British Men of Letters.

Zadkiel hoped the attack was carried out soon. His wings shuddered, remembering the grace storm that shook Heaven. Sam's screams were carried within, unleashed when the monsters had burned the fledgling with holy fire.

He shook his wings out, pushing aside the morose mood. The child was safe and relatively happy. Sam might never be the carefree fledgling that Heaven was used to raising, but he had come a long way in a short time. As Nuriel kept reminding them, Sam was thriving in many ways.

 _ **We have an incoming angel,**_ Sariel's voice rang clear through his mind. _**It is Gabriel but he is early. Be alert!**_

Zadkiel stood at the ready. They weren't expecting the archangels to return for several hours still. For only one to return so far ahead of schedule could mean anything.

 _Stand down, dweebs,_ Gabriel said as he flew past them. _I'm just checking on everyone. Gotta work on building my 'overprotective big-bro' routine so I can out-do Dean. You guys can chill. I promise!_

 _ **Understood, Sir!**_ Sariel replied.

 _Ugh! Sariel, I told you to quit calling me that. It makes me feel old,_ Gabriel groaned in a very undignified voice.

Zadkiel grinned at the sound. He'd missed the Messenger's playfulness through the centuries. Now that he'd returned, it was a constant shock to their systems to hear him tease or whine at them in such a human way. Sariel's horror reverberated through their grace.

 _ **It is not disrespect if Gabriel orders it, Sariel** , _Zadkiel gently reminded her.

 _ **It is the principle of the matter,**_ she snapped back. _**He is an archangel. There is a clear chain of command. He wishes me to ignore an eternity of protocol—toss it aside as though it means nothing!**_

 _ **I do not believe Gabriel has lived under our protocols for a very long time—if he ever really did to begin with,**_ Nuriel said softly. _**He was always unique among the four oldest. Always young in spirit no matter how many eons passed.**_

Sariel's sigh drifted across the yard.

A short time later, Gabriel left again. _**Keep them safe, angels!**_ he shouted as he flew past.

Zadkiel watched the streak of golden grace cross the heavens and wondered at the emotion he'd heard. He didn't have long to ponder, however, when a second streak followed the Messenger at a slower pace—a violet-white spark that was incredibly familiar. Terror gripped him at the sight. _**NO!**_

 _ **Stay and protect the Bunker! Nuriel and I will follow the boy,**_ Sariel ordered, already flying.

Alarms were sounding through his grace and he knew Castiel would have been alerted to Sam's departure by now. He immediately landed by the Bunker's entrance. However, when he reached for the door, warding burned his grace.

 _ **Castiel!**_ he called. _**I am outside…**_

The door swung open, revealing a distraught Castiel and a cacophony of deafening noise pouring through some kind of sound system. "Zadkiel, what is happening?" the seraph demanded.

Before he could report, Dean Winchester came sprinting to a stop next to a large table that held a map. His hands were clasped over his ears. "Cas!" he screamed. "What the fuck, man!? Is this another one of Gabe's stupid alarms? Did someone sneeze on his favorite mug or touch his toothbrush or what?! Turn it off!"

Castiel waved his hand to silence the music and pulled Zadkiel by the collar. He stumbled across the threshold in surprise. The wards tingled but didn't burn now that Castiel's grace touched his.

"Explain," Castiel ordered.

"Explain what, Cas?" Dean yelled up confusion. The man wore an odd combination of sleep pants, t-shirt, combat boots, and robe. Zadkiel had never seen those items worn together before. "Why is nerd-angel in the bunker? Is he the reason we got serenaded?"

 _"_ Dean," Castiel said in a terse voice that stopped the hunter's rambling. "Sam is gone."

"Sam is what?" Dean asked, frowning. "How can he be missing? Gabriel was just…"

"Sam flew," Zadkiel answered quickly. "It appeared as though he was following Gabriel. Sariel and Nuriel went in pursuit of him. I was instructed to remain here to guard the nest until they return."

"Sam flew?" Dean repeated slowly. "My brother, Sam? Tiny kid, has trouble walking sometimes? Can't fly more than a few feet across the yard? That Sam?!"

Zadkiel glanced at Castiel and caught the small wince on the other seraph's face. "Yes?" he hesitantly answered.

Dean scowled at them for a heartbeat. Then, turned and ran back the way he came. "Sammy!" he bellowed.

Castiel took off after him and Zadkiel could only follow. He was bewildered. What were they doing? Why was Dean yelling for his brother when they'd just informed him Sam was no longer there?

The hunter threw a door open and barreled inside. Zadkiel peered around Castiel. There was a small bed with no blankets—just a twisted sheet half off the mattress and a pillow on the floor. He guessed this was Sam's room, although he couldn't imagine why the fledgling slept in isolation.

Suddenly, a cascade of voices from Heaven flooded his mind. _**A fledgling… in Heart Hall… Shapeshifter… Father help him… in a vessel…**_ He heard Castiel gasp and wasn't sure if it was the volume or the message.

Bare feet slapped through the hall behind him and Zadkiel turned to see the mother running toward them. "Zadkiel? What's happening? Is Sammy okay?"

Dean spun around, shoving Castiel to the side so he could grab Zadkiel with both hands. "Where's my brother, you son of a bitch? I swear to your Dad, if you had anything to do with this, I got an entire collection of angel blades with your name on them…"

Zadkiel frowned. Angel blades couldn't have his name on them. Each was unique to the angel whose grace formed it.

 _ **Do not explain angel blades to him.**_ Castiel's voice interrupted his thoughts. _**He is not being literal. It is a threat, meaning he will kill you with them.**_

 _ **Oh,**_ Zadkiel said in surprise, eyes going wide as he focused back on the hunter inches away from his face. "I do not have your brother, Dean. But I now know where he landed."

"Where!?" Dean spit.

"Dean," Castiel said, grasping the man's wrist, "perhaps we can move to the kitchen. I believe this will be better discussed sitting down with coffee than screamed in the hallway."

The grip on his collar tightened and Zadkiel thought Dean wasn't going to take Castiel's suggestion. But then one hand dropped. "Fine," the hunter grunted as he began dragging Zadkiel through the halls.

Once in the kitchen, he was shoved into a chair. Dean stood over him, arms crossed and muscles vibrating with tension. Castiel and Mary took up sentry positions on either side of the hunter. No one moved to make coffee.

"Start talking," Dean said.

Zadkiel adjusted his shirt and nodded. "Gabriel returned here ahead of schedule to check on things. After he left, Sam followed. He's not as fast as Gabriel—far less coordinated. Sariel and Nuriel immediately began tracking him. I was told to remain on guard here."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, waving a hand impatiently, "get to the part where you know where he landed."

"Oh. He," Zadkiel glanced at Castiel who nodded, "he's in Heaven. And he accidentally brought Morpheus with him."

"Excuse me?" Dean's voice dropped dangerously low.

"He followed Gabriel," Zadkiel explained. "And Gabriel returned to Heaven."

"So, Sam and Morpheus are with Gabriel now?" Mary asked.

 _ **Father help me—I was not made to work with fledglings!**_ Sariel's voice rang with frustration. _**Why is he kicking me, Nuriel? I am only trying to get the blankets off his feet!**_

Zadkiel and Castiel winced as Sam's voice ricocheted through their heads. _**GABRIEL!**_ _**Gabriel! Raphael! Castiel! Help me—angels take me!**_ The despair and anguish in the boy's voice made Zadkiel's grace twist in empathy.

"What?! What's happening?" Dean asked frantically, his head swinging back and forth between the two angels.

Raphael's voice boomed through the rising cries of the Host. _**I am coming, Samuel! Do not fear—you will be fine!**_ It didn't seem as though Sam heard him, however—there was no response.

"Sam is not yet with Gabriel," Zadkiel whispered through the pain in his head, "but Raphael is on his way." He was _not_ used to fledglings' uncontrolled volumes. How did Nuriel handle a room full of little ones learning to speak at once?

"What do you mean he's not with Gabe?! He fucking followed him!" Dean's fists clenched at his sides in helpless rage.

"Dean." Castiel stepped forward, laying a hand on the hunter's shoulder. "Gabriel is an archangel who has flown since before the dawn of creation. Sam flew alone for the first time _five days ago_ —and only managed a few of feet."

"So, he flapped all the way to Heaven without fallin'?!" Dean started pacing. "Is he okay? Because he passes out for hours after a few feet here! Jesus, what's he gonna do when he gets to freakin' Heaven? Is he even conscious?"

"He is awake. I believe he is trying to fight everyone," Zadkiel offered, hoping that would give the worried brother some relief to know that Sam was actually quite energetic.

"He's what?! _Fucking why_?!" Dean spun around to scream.

Sam's voice, soft and desperate, tickled the back of Zadkiel's mind—a mix between speech and prayer. He sounded out of breath. _Gabriel, I don't know where we are but Morpheus is with me. I can't hear him anymore—I can't hear anything. There's too much noise. There are so many angels here…and grace!_

Castiel held up a hand again, frowning in concentration. "Sam is praying to Gabriel. He is very confused. He does not realize he is in Heaven—just knows there are angels and grace and he cannot hear over the noise." _  
_

Dean frowned in confusion. "We've been to Heaven, Cas. How can he not know?"

Sam's voice drifted in again, louder this time as it was directed to an angel much closer to where Zadkiel was sitting. _Castiel, the bunker's been compromised! I don't know where I am, but two of the guard were here when I woke up surrounded by angels. Don't trust Zadkiel if he's there! Please, keep Mom and Dean safe. And keep yourself safe, too!_

Zadkiel froze, staring wide-eyed at the other seraph. The boy thought he was untrustworthy! What would that do to sway the opinions of his flock?

"Cas, how…" Dean started to repeat, but Castiel cut him off.

"You were in the human portion of Heaven—as human souls. Sam is in the Hosts' side of Heaven as a fledgling." Castiel squinted back at Zadkiel. "He likely followed Gabriel on instinct in his sleep. He landed in a location known as Heart Hall—it appears to us as an enormous stone cavern with carved pillars. Like a very bright 'Mines of Moria.'"

"So?" Dean asked, finally calming down some. He dropped into a chair across the table from Zadkiel. "What does that mean?"

Castiel sighed and sat next to the hunter. "Heaven is constructed out of grace, Dean. Sam's senses are overwhelmed from the flight and landing in the middle of the largest pool of grace he's ever experienced. Fledglings aren't even taken out of our nurseries without extreme protections because of all the grace!"

"So, you're saying Sammy flew _in his sleep_ to Heaven, woke up surrounded by angels in the middle of the worst acid trip ever, and is trying to fight his way out?" Dean stared at the seraph.

Castiel considered his words and slowly nodded. "That is an accurate description. He believes the angels kidnapped him."

Zadkiel made a choking noise and felt the urge to kick Castiel under the table. Surely his brother did not believe he had something to do with Sam's flight!? The seraph's explanation so far had not indicated any deception on behalf of the angel guard but that didn't mean he wasn't setting him up for a fall.

Dean's head swung around at the noise. "Now what?!"

"Sam prayed to me," Castiel said casually with a small smile, "to warn us that Zadkiel is possibly trying to take over the bunker. He wanted me to keep you all safe."

Mary sighed and moved to what Zadkiel recognized as a coffee station. "Who wants coffee?"

Dean and Castiel's hands went up although they didn't turn around. Zadkiel tentatively raised his hand too. He'd never had coffee before.

Dean scowled at him. "You gonna take over the bunker, angel-nerd?"

"No…?" Zadkiel said, hand still in the air.

"Because traitors don't get coffee in this house," he growled.

Castiel snorted. "Dean, he couldn't even get through the front door without my help. And I have been listening to the entire Host, including Sam, since this began. Zadkiel is the last angel we would need to worry about infiltrating the bunker."

"Well, then he's the _first_ one going on my list to watch out for," Dean muttered, leaning back with a yawn. "It's always the 'last ones you should worry about' that end up getting you."

Zadkiel opened his mouth but no sound came out. The roar of the Host grew deafening, their words too jumbled to make sense. He gasped and dropped his head into his hands.

Michael's voice suddenly carried over the din. _**Hush, my angels. Your noise is too much for sensitive young ears.**_ The clamor of voices fell to silence. _**Thank you. Until further notice, I am ordering radio silence. Emergency use only.**_

"Oh my God, what's happening now? Cas!? What's wrong?" Dean's voice rose in panic as he grabbed Castiel's shoulders and then his face. "Cas, talk to me!"

"It's Michael," Zadkiel managed. "The Host was…yelling. He told them to be quiet for Sam's sake. I believe Sam had tried to run and shocked several angels along the way. With his grace."

Dean looked from Zadkiel to Castiel, who nodded in agreement with the assessment. The hunter grinned. "That's my boy."

Mary walked over with a tray of mugs and handed them out. She sat next to Zadkiel, gently rubbing his back. "Here you go. You can add things to your coffee to make it sweet and creamy. Just play with it until you decide you like the flavor," she explained, holding up a small container of sugar.

He nodded, not really understanding, and studied a scoop of the white crystals. Foods and drinks had no flavor, just molecules—the elements that made up each substance. And he only registered those so he could test the composition of items while in a vessel.

Dean studied him, eyes moving in careful scrutiny. They got to the spoon still suspended with sugar over the coffee and then rolled in exasperation. "Yeah, you're doing a great job seizing control, nerd. Do you need help with the sugar or can you handle it?"

"Castiel, can you go up there?" Mary asked softly, ignoring her eldest son. "To Sam? I don't understand why it's taking so long for Raphael or Gabriel to reach him. I mean, they're already in Heaven."

"I would not help the situation much," Castiel said with a sad smile. "I am not welcome in Heaven right now. If I flew into the middle of Heart Hall next to our newest fledgling, I would likely start a battle. Our siblings would believe I was there to attack Sam because they do not know his true identity and they do not trust or like me."

"She's got a point, though," Dean said, finally getting a sip of his coffee. "Why aren't the archangels with him yet?"

"Because we cannot fly within Heaven's walls," Zadkiel said.

Castiel nodded. "It is true. There are entrance and exit points to Heaven. But because Heaven is made from grace, flying can damage the structure and foundations. The only place where flight is allowed is in the training grounds where fledglings and soldiers can practice techniques safely within Heaven without damaging themselves or our home."

 _ **Raphael! Gabriel!**_ Sam's screams tore through their minds.

Zadkiel dropped the sugar spoon into his coffee. The hot liquid splashed across the table but he could do nothing. He heard both members of the guard shout at the same time.

 _ **Do not let his wings extend!**_ Nuriel ordered.

 _ **He is trying to fly home!**_ Sariel yelled, giving Zadkiel a much clearer picture of what was happening.

 _"_ Don't make me ask, Cas," Dean said quietly. Zadkiel saw him rubbing Castiel's temples as the seraph was bent over in pain. "Please? Just tell me he's okay."

"Sam is safe," Zadkiel answered, barely above a whisper. "He… he does not believe the angels—that he is in Heaven nor that Raphael and Gabriel are on their way to him. And he is angry because the guard will not bring him home—so he tried to fly home himself."

Mary gasped. "No! That sounds dangerous!"

"It is," Castiel said, raising his head. His eyes were pained but they met the mother's gaze easily. "Sam did a lot of damage to himself flying so far. The others had to stop him and bind his wings until Raphael reaches them for his own protection." He raised a hand before Dean could speak. "Sam is unharmed. Scared and furious, but he _is safe._ "

Zadkiel winced when he felt the echo of Sam's blast through his grace. The boy had just knocked a group of angels away from him—including the Commander. But he'd also thrown his canine companion.

 _ **Oh, Father,**_ Nuriel cried, _**Morpheus! I cannot… it appears as though he is still breathing. Samuel will not allow us near him. Barachiel… oh, I think he will attempt to distract Samuel so I can heal his shifter.**_

 ** _You need to hurry, Nuriel._** Sariel sounded pained. **_The boy is summoning… nevermind. He just stabbed Barachiel with an angel blade._**

Castiel grunted, his hand flying up to cover his mouth in shock.

Zadkiel knew he wasn't much better. A fledgling summoning an angel blade? How was that even possible?

"I swear to God, if someone doesn't say something, I'm gonna just shoot myself and go to Heaven on my own. Gabe or Raph can resurrect me once I get Sam." Dean spoke in an eerily calm voice. "Or someone can tell me what the _fuck_ is going on."

"Your brother," Castiel managed to say through clenched teeth, "just summoned an angel blade. And stabbed a Caretaker."

"He… what?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Summoned an—"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean interrupted with a wave. "You mean, he did the thing that blew up the bathroom? The thing that led to the big blow-out fight earlier tonight when the archangels learned about his sneaky side research project? You're saying Sam tried it _again_ , managed to actually _make one_ , and then stabbed an angel with it?"

Zadkiel stared at the hunter. "He tried this _before?_ " he asked, horrified. "Sam has tried to summon a-an angel blade _before_?

"Is there an echo in here? Yes, he tried it before!" Dean rolled his eyes.

"But…" Zadkiel looked to Castiel for understanding.

The seraph nodded. "I know, brother. We just learned of it tonight. Rest assured, actions are being taken to prevent him from continuing these dangerous and foolish actions."

"But he _just_ summoned one!" Zadkiel cried. " _And_ stabbed Barachiel!"

"Well," Castiel paused. "That is true."

"What did Bar-a… Bar-chiel do?" Mary asked with quiet worry.

"Laugh," Zadkiel said, laughing himself. "He's a Caretaker though—and an odd one at that. He reminds me of Gabriel in a lot of ways. Playful, loud, physical. He's quite proud that Sam stabbed him, actually."

Dean thumped Castiel's chest with the back of his hand. "I stabbed you when we first met. It's like the official Winchester greeting."

A hand rested on Zadkiel's shoulder, making him jump. Mary leaned closer and whispered, "Don't worry. I think the stabbing has to be the _very_ first thing that happens. You should be safe. Besides, I've really been trying to cut down on their propensity for stabbing—strangers and each other." She gave a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know how good I've been though. Not if Sam flew to Heaven and immediately started stabbing people."

 ** _Thank Father—Raphael is here,_** Sariel relayed. Relief flooded through Zadkiel's grace. He saw Castiel sag against Dean out of the corner of his eye.

"What…" Dean started to ask but Castiel cut him off.

"Raphael has reached Sam."

"Oh, thank God," Mary sighed.

"It's about time!" Dean grumbled, but he put an arm around Castiel's shoulders and drew him closer. "Is he okay?"

"He…"

 _ **Raphael, what the Hell is happening?!**_ Gabriel's voice interrupted them loudly. _**Samuel is here—in Heaven? What the fuck—MOVE, SERAPHS, OR I WILL RUN YOU OVER! Someone had better start explaining!**_

 _ **Ahh, I see they found you.**_ Michael replied dryly. _**I shall explain on a private channel, so your screaming does not distract Raphael.**_

"Oh my," Zadkiel whispered. For all of Gabriel's dramatics, he had never witnessed the archangel in such a frantic state. He did not envy the poor seraphs the Messenger was encountering in Heaven's halls.

Castiel smirked. "Gabriel is now aware of the situation and on his way to Sam as well."

"Where's he been? Napping?" Dean huffed.

"No," Castiel said, draining his coffee. "He was interrogating Sam's kidnappers in Heaven's prisons. The cells are heavily warded so no angel radio can be transmitted in or out of that space for obvious reasons. Guards would have needed to go in and inform him of Sam's presence."

Dean made a face. "Poor guards."

"No doubt," Castiel agreed.

Zadkiel drank his coffee. It was cold now and mostly tasteless—just as he'd expected. The sugar added a grainy texture where it hadn't dissolved at the bottom but it didn't taste _sweet._

"Did you like it?" Mary asked, biting her lower lip.

"It was… wet. And crunchy," he answered honestly.

"No more coffee until you can taste it," Dean said. "You'll just waste it all."

"Castiel," Mary said, collecting the empty mugs to refill them with fresh coffee, "can you teach him how to taste like Gabriel taught you?"

Castiel considered it for a moment. "I can try." He stood and gathered a few items from the refrigerator and pantry. "Humans have four main taste receptors—bitter, sour, salty, and sweet."

Zadkiel nodded even though he didn't quite understand. Mary returned with the coffees. She placed a fresh cup in front of him and he inhaled the steam. The sensation was pleasant enough.

Castiel laid the things out on the table in front of Zadkiel, explaining each item in turn. "Coffee is bitter. Lemons are sour. Potato chips are salty. Strawberries are sweet. It will be easier to taste the difference if you try foods that are extremes of each."

"Ugh, that looks disgusting," Dean said with a shudder. "What a terrible first meal, Cas. Gabe made you pies and bacon! You're making him eat lemons and coffee and chips and berries? You, my friend, are an asshole."

"Well, _I_ have never taught someone how to taste with their grace before, Dean!" Castiel said, rolling his eyes in frustration. Zadkiel wondered if that was a common gesture among all humans or just the Winchesters. He'd seen his brother use it as often as the others in this flock. "Besides, you thought he was infiltrating the bunker."

"Hey! I'm still not convinced he isn't." Dean pulled the sugar and cream away from Zadkiel's reach and glared at him. "I'm watching you, nerd-angel."

 ** _Gabriel has made it here now._** Nuriel's relief was almost tangible. **_Although he seems to be in as much distress as Samuel—possibly just as injured too. Sweet Father, how many angels did he plow through to get here?_**

Zadkiel choked on the piece of lemon he'd just placed on his tongue.

"Did you taste it?!" Dean asked excitedly, no longer scowling. "That was so fast! Cas, you're a great teacher." He slapped the seraph on the back several times in pride while Zadkiel coughed out a seed.

"No. I haven't even _explained_ anything to him yet. Nuriel interrupted before I could begin." Castiel frowned in what could only be considered a pout. "Gabriel just arrived in the Hall in true 'Gabriel fashion.'" He made an odd gesture with his fingers that made Dean and Mary laugh.

"Let me guess—was he riding a horse? Were there trumpets involved?" Dean asked, breathless.

"A horse?" Mary scoffed, slapping her son's arm. "Where's he gonna get a horse in Heaven? My guess is he knocked down walls to get there—just busted through them like one of those old Bugs Bunny-Road Runner cartoons."

"Mary is closest," Castiel said with a nod toward the mother. "He did use the door but he apparently did not wait for most of the angels to get out of his way between the prison and Sam's side. Raphael may be dealing with many injuries before returning to us."

"Not even a little trumpet?" Dean whined.

"No trumpets, Dean." Castiel stared at Zadkiel. _Do you see, brother?_

 _See what?_ Zadkiel asked, glancing around in fear that he'd missed something.

Castiel rolled his eyes again. _What I have to put up with every day?_

"Man, no trumpets? What's the fucking point?" Dean grumbled as he went to rummage through the fridge.

Instead of explaining with words, Castiel showed him using his own grace how to reach for the flavors of each food. It was an odd way of analyzing—like perceiving colors and smells and sound, but with his grace and the tiny organ inside his vessel's mouth. He tried the lemon again and was shocked by the overwhelming sensation that seemed to burn his eyes and nose.

"Ooo, I think he tasted that, Castiel!" Mary laughed.

Castiel grinned and coated a lemon slice in sugar before handing it to Zadkiel. "Try it again now."

He spit what was in his mouth into a napkin, then scrubbed at his tongue with a clean part. "I don't know if I _want_ to taste things, brother," he said, reaching for the slice anyway and hesitantly putting it in his mouth.

The bitter-sour-citrus was tempered by the sweet coating of pure sugar. It burst on his tongue in a blend of brilliant flavors he had no name for. Chewing the fruit only mashed the pulp into the crystals more, stirring juices together in a way that delighted his senses.

"Ew, gross! I think he likes it, Cas. Your brother is weird." Dean shuddered as he watched

"Sam also likes lemons coated in sugar," Castiel said, turning to give the hunter a pointed look.

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged, "my brother's weird too."

 _I guess you and Sam can just be the 'weird brothers' together,_ Castiel said silently to him.

Zadkiel felt a warmth infuse his grace at the words and wondered if his vessel was blushing. He had heard Sam's prayers since his human childhood—but that was not something that they had discussed. If anything, it might come across as a violation or as simple incompetence since nothing was done to answer his prayers in the end.

But besides that, he had nothing that connected him to the newest member of the Host. He was not a true soldier like Sariel. He had no experience with fledglings like Nuriel. He was simply the angel of mercy—a voyeur of prayers in a system that had broken down centuries ago.

 _I would like that,_ he said with a small smile. _I have always been considered a little odd to the Host._

Castiel snorted. _Yes, we could start a club._

 _A… club?_

 _A group for angels who were seen as outsiders. We would hold regular meetings. Perhaps wear matching t-shirts and have a slogan._ Castiel set aside the lemons and pushed the bowl of strawberries toward him. _Try these. They are sweet without adding sugar._

Zadkiel blinked, unsure what most of those things meant. Slogans? Matching t-shirts? He reached for a strawberry and bit half of it.

The texture was completely different from the lemon. Softer, meatier, with tiny seeds that crunched delightfully between his teeth instead of needing to be spit out. And the sweetness was also different—not forced from a coating of crystals, but naturally found within the fruit itself. It was already part of the flavor of this _strawberry._

He grabbed one of the lemon pieces again and shoved it back in his mouth along with the other half of the strawberry, groaning at the combination. Why was he only experiencing this now? These items had been around since the dawn of time! Some fruits and flowers had gone extinct and would never be tasted!

"Zadkiel?" Mary asked quietly. "Are you okay?"

He looked at her and frowned. Why was her face blurry? Swallowing hard, he nodded and said, "Yes? I think so."

"Oh, sweetie," she sighed and wiped his face with a clean napkin. "I think you're gonna fit right in here."

 ** _Castiel, is all well at the bunker?_** Raphael asked in concern. **_Nuriel tells me that she has tried to keep you apprised of the situation but the task has been difficult._**

 ** _We are well, Raphael,_** Castiel answered. **_We are eager for any solid news of Samuel's wellbeing. And perhaps an estimated time for your return home. Dean is ready to storm Heaven himself to retrieve his brother._**

Dean walked over to them, a curious look on his face. He glanced at Zadkiel with an eyebrow raised in question but said nothing. When Zadkiel didn't say anything, Dean rolled his eyes and mouthed 'who's he talking to' while holding his hand to his face—pinky and thumb extended toward his mouth and ear.

Zadkiel frowned, unsure of the gesture.

"He wants to know who Castiel is talking to over angel radio," Mary whispered.

"Oh," he turned back to Dean and also whispered, "it's Raphael. Castiel is asking for news of Sam and when they may return home."

"They are going to the Garden so Raphael can heal Sam for their return flight," Castiel relayed after a moment.

"Heal him? Why's he hurt?" Dean demanded to know. "Did someone touch him?!"

"It was from his flight there, Dean—the trip wrecked his wings. Raphael says he won't be able to fly for a while once they return. He's only going to replace the protective coating and groom them into place for now. And when he manifested the angel blade, Sam burned his palms again."

"I swear, I'm putting that kid in a bubble. With a helmet," Dean muttered.

"Why would the bubble have a helmet?" Zadkiel asked.

The hunter turned so fast, coffee sloshed over the side of his mug. "Oh no. You did _not_ just say that. Did he just say that? Cas, did he…"

Castiel sighed. "Yes, Dean."

Dean broke out laughing. "Oh my God, there are two of you. He's like you! A mini-you from like, six or seven years ago! Oh, he is precious. Can we keep him? I bet I can train him up in no time. Forget the coffee—get this kid a beer!"

Castiel sighed again and dropped his head to the table. _Good luck, brother. I tried to save you from this earlier. I am sorry I failed you._

 _Save me from what?_ Zadkiel asked nervously, glancing at the gleeful hunter.

 _From an enthusiastic Dean Winchester becoming your teacher. It will likely be exhausting, and sometimes humiliating. He means well. Just don't insult his music and you should do fine._

 ** _Zadkiel, are you also doing well?_** the Healer asked.

 ** _Yes, Sir!_** he answered, trying not to jump in surprise. The pat on his back from Mary told him he was unsuccessful.

 ** _I know Gabriel's flock can be a little overwhelming to those not accustomed to the Winchesters. Dean has not tried to stab you, has he?_** Raphael sounded as though he were smiling.

 ** _There was a threat of stabbing earlier. But I believe we have moved beyond that now._** Zadkiel grinned. **_Castiel has taught me to taste foods with my grace! It is amazing, Sir! And now Dean wishes to keep me and train me, although Castiel does not seem very excited about this change in attitude._**

A deep rumbling laugh rolled through his grace. He saw Castiel hide a grin against his arm on the table. **_Rest assured, Castiel—no one in their right mind would ever wish to replace you at Dean Winchester's side. I believe that is why Father resurrected you so often—because no other being in His universe has the patience for that human!_**

Castiel snorted and kept his head buried. **_I believe that is entirely possible. Not that I am a being of infinite patience—I just pretend to ignore him when he gets annoying._**

 ** _Your secret is safe with me,_** Raphael said with a chuckle. **_Please keep Dean from stabbing Zadkiel before we return. Samuel has already stabbed Barachiel up here and I swear, I have never seen a seraph more excited to have their grace sliced open by an angel blade!_**

 ** _Well, it_ is _Barachiel,_ ** said Castiel wryly. **_He has always been a little… wild._**

 ** _Yes. And he has taken to Samuel quite strongly already. If I know Gabriel, we will be returning with a fourth guard member._** Raphael gave a long-suffering sigh. **_I shall let you know when we finish our healing in the Garden. It should not take long. Then, we will be on our way home._**

 ** _Good luck,_** Castiel said, rolling his head back and forth in his arm.

"So, uhh, what else did he have to say?" Dean asked around a mouth full of potato chips. "Cuz you two are grinnin' and blushin' like a couple of school kids over here. I think Cas might actually start giggling soon."

Castiel raised his head and took a deep breath. "I have been charged with the task of keeping Zadkiel unstabbed until the others return. Especially in light of Sam's stabbing spree up in Heaven. Raphael wishes to keep the Winchester-angel stabbing tally down to just the one."

Dean's eyes narrowed on Zadkiel, but this time it felt more playful. "We'll see. How's your takeover plans going?"

"It depends," Zadkiel gave him a slight smile.

"Oh, yeah? Oh what?" Dean asked, chin lifted in challenge.

"On how much food you have left. Are there more strawberries? I really like these!" He held out the mostly empty bowl as he threw another two into his mouth.

Dean blinked at him, then rolled his eyes. "Oh gods, Gabriel's gonna love you. If he comes home to an empty pantry…" He trailed off, grabbing the mostly empty bowl and searching through the refrigerator for more fruits.

"Then he'll be delighted to go on another market run to feed more mouths who appreciate his cooking," Castiel finished for the hunter. He pushed the coffee mug to Zadkiel. "Try this plain first, then we can add sugar and cream to your liking."

Zadkiel nodded and tasted it. The warm drink provided a completely new experience this time. It was not as bitter as he'd expected—not like the lemon. But it held other flavors as well that were nothing like fruit—smoke and earth and other things he had no name for yet. "I like it. It is not what I expected."

"Let's try adding some things to it one at a time, okay?" Mary said excitedly. She got the sugar and creamer back from Dean's side of the table, adding a small spoonful to his drink. "It helps if you stir it in while the coffee's still hot enough to dissolve it—then you won't get crunchy coffee." She winked at him with a grin.

He took another sip, delighted by the change in flavor. Who knew how complex human senses could be? Everything was different from so small a change! "I like it much better with sugar."

"Well, then you may like it even more with cream," Mary said, stirring in thick white liquid from a small pouring jar. "This is called 'half-and-half' because it is half milk and half cream. Very good for coffee!"

Zadkiel watched the black liquid swirl into tan and umber. Once the colors had blended completely, he took another sip. His eyes closed on their own as a third, even more amazing, flavor overtook him. The cream enhanced the sweetness and tempered the bitterness to create an entirely new concoction.

Blinking back moisture from his vessel's eyes, he peered down at the mug in sheer awe and joy. How could so many possibilities be contained in so small a thing? No wonder humans indulged in food and drink so often—it was delightful!

"Just wait until he learns there's _flavored_ creamers and coffees," Dean whispered loudly to Castiel. Zadkiel's head shot up to look at the hunter but found him grinning in a proud way. "Oh, yeah. Flavored coffee, flavored creamer, flavor syrups added to fancy coffees made with steamed milk and brewed with shots of espresso. That's not even getting into the other forms of coffee like iced or frapped. Now me? I like it strong and black and plain. Occasionally with a shot of whisky in it."

 _That's a lie,_ said Castiel with a silent sigh. _Well, not about the whisky. But he does like to sneak sugar into his coffee when no one is looking. It does not change the color so everyone still thinks he's drinking black coffee. He believes it will ruin his 'badass' reputation if the others know he enjoys sweet coffee._

Zadkiel grinned. _I won't tell a soul._

 _Or an angel, for that matter,_ Castiel amended. _He would pout—for weeks. Possibly months. I do not have the energy nor the patience right now._

For the next hour, the Winchesters and Castiel bided their time making him try various foods they found in the kitchen. Most of them he enjoyed immensely. Especially things that were dual flavors like sweet and salty, or sweet and bitter, or sweet and sour. As long as sweetness was part of the combination, he was completely on board.

Some items created fights—especially things Dean picked. "What do you mean, 'no?!'" he asked in outrage.

"Unless _you_ are willing to eat an entire clove of garlic right here in this kitchen, Dean Winchester, then put it _back!_ " Mary ordered, one hand on her hip with the other one outstretched and pointing toward the pantry shelves.

Dean stood there, contemplating the merits of eating a clove of garlic if it meant making someone else do it too.

"Do not make me start counting, mister!" she warned.

The hunter made a face and sprinted for the pantry.

 _What does counting mean?_ Zadkiel asked his brother silently.

Castiel gave him a small grin. _It is a thing parents do to warn their children. There are consequences if they reach the end of their count and the order was not completed._

 _What kind of consequences?_ he asked, eyes wide as he glanced at the tiny fierce mother.

 _With Mary? Likely a tickle attack that would leave Dean in humiliating tears. She knows all his weak spots._

 _And other parents or children besides Mary or Dean?_ he asked, curious about how human families worked.

Castiel frowned. _I am not certain about all other parents and children. I know that some utilize systems of time-outs, sitting in corners or chairs. Some lose privileges like television or playtime. Others turn to physical forms of punishment._

 _You mean like hitting?_ Zadkiel had received many prayers for mercy from children in his lifetime. They broke him over and over. It was a helplessness he had no words to describe.

 _I do, but that is not what happens in this nest!_ Castiel's voice was very firm. _You will learn over time that Sam and Dean were both raised by a father who used physical and emotional violence to ensure their obedience. We are all very aware of the scars he's left on them—and are doing our best to make sure that is never a cycle they live through again._

"There! I put the garlic away. Are you happy!?" Dean asked loudly, throwing his hands into the air as he returned to the kitchen.

"Ecstatic," Mary said dryly. "Now, why don't we do something besides shove random food down Zadkiel's throat. At this rate, we'll have nothing left for breakfast when they return."

"And Gabriel will _not_ wish to leave the bunker for any reason once he returns," Castiel said with a grimace.

"What? Why? He loves doing market runs through ancient times." Dean frowned as he grabbed a fresh cup of coffee.

Zadkiel stared between the two of them. Did the hunter know so little of angel traditions or how grace worked? Did he understand at all what this trip would have done to his brother's grace? Or the steps Gabriel would need to take to ensure his safety for the trip back? Was it _not_ obvious?

Apparently, it was not.

"There are some things you should know," Castiel rubbed the back of his neck, "before they return."

"Uh huh." Dean sipped his drink. "Can you make that sound _more_ ominous? Because right now it's just at the level of 'your brother has accidentally gotten betrothed to someone' scary. And I think you can do better."

"Perhaps we should sit somewhere comfortable for this?" Castiel suggested.

"Now, see, the last time that was said, Sam had flown himself into Heaven and no one wanted to tell me without coffee nearby." Dean took a step back and shook his head. "I dunno if I can handle something worse. How comfy are we talking? Do I need pillows to clutch? Blankets? Is a cushy chair good enough?"

"How about the movie room?" Mary offered, yawning. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. "It's almost two in the morning. We can at least sit somewhere nicer than these kitchen chairs."

"Fine," Dean conceded with a huff. He drained his mug and refilled it before stalking out into the hall.

Mary sighed. "He is going to be _so_ grumpy tomorrow if Sam doesn't get home soon. I think I'm gonna make everyone take a nap. Angels included," she added over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.

 _There is no use arguing,_ Castiel said, shaking his head before Zadkiel could say anything. _Besides, laying down to rest is quite pleasant._

 _I do not believe Sariel will allow "naptime" among the guard,_ Zadkiel said with a shy smile.

 _She has never had Mary Winchester order her to take one before._ Cas smirked back.

Zadkiel stared after his brother who simply followed the path Dean and Mary had already taken. _Are humans always this odd? Or are the Winchesters unique?_

 _Humanity is filled with unique quirks. Each person or family may have their own patterns of behavior that have developed through lifetimes and generations. But the Winchesters are their own category of odd._ Castiel slowed down until they were side-by-side. _I have never met anyone like them in all my existence—human, angel, demon, or other creature._

Zadkiel nodded slowly in understanding. He had limited experience with other beings outside of Heaven except listening to the prayers of faceless humans. But even he could tell the Winchesters were a rare sort.

 ** _We shall soon be done with the healing here,_** Raphael's voice interrupted their thoughts. **_Samuel's grace is in a terrible state. It will need continuous care for a while after we return. And a new routine from now on._**

 ** _Is this from the flight?_** Castiel asked, concerned.

There was a moment of hesitation from the Healer. **_Not entirely. I believe we have neglected to care for Samuel's grace because we have been so focused on the adult aspects of his mind. Sleeping in isolation, only reluctantly allowing grooming once a day, not remaining in contact with other angels and grace unless in training—his grace is malnourished and desperate for affection._**

The seraphs both grimaced in the hallway at the mental picture. Fledglings were always kept bundled in layers of grace—their own, the Caretakers', and each other's. They never spent a moment separated from it. It was unimaginable for a fledgling to isolate himself from grace for any amount of time, let alone long enough to become malnourished!

 ** _Is he… alright?_** Castiel asked.

 ** _He will be,_** Raphael answered confidently. **_Gabriel has already removed my own layers of protections so he can smother the child in his own grace. Samuel is very confused by the affection and love coming from Gabriel—but it is what he has needed on a daily basis. And now that we are aware of the problem, we will make sure he receives it._**

 ** _That… that will go a long way to allaying some of the fears Samuel has been having. Fears we just learned about this evening after you left. If we can convince him that these are not passing emotions—that this is how we all feel about him all the time—then perhaps he can settle down._** Castiel sighed, remembering the boy's frantic face trying to explain how he was going to be left all alone one day. Not a fear—a certainty.

 ** _Yes, this fear of being abandoned by us all in the next century or two—well before he has reached adulthood?_** Raphael asked.

 ** _He told you his concerns?_** Castiel's eyes went wide in surprise as he stopped walking.

 ** _No. He told us the dream he had that led him to following Gabriel back to Heaven._** Raphael sounded tired and sad. **_Rest assured, Castiel. We will not allow these fears to continue unaddressed. Nor will Gabriel allow his fledgling to starve himself under some misguided notion that he "does not need it."_**

 ** _That is… good. Though I will also be interested in seeing how he plans to carry out this new routine._** Castiel glanced at Zadkiel who shrugged in bewilderment.

 ** _Very carefully,_** Raphael chuckled. **_I believe we are finished here. Give us a few minutes to return to Heart Hall and then prepare Samuel for the flight—oh. Hold on. We may be delayed. I believe Robert Singer has just arrived in the Garden. As much as I wish to get Samuel home, Robert may be just the face he needs to see right now. I will give you another update when we leave the Garden._**

"Oh man," Castiel whispered. "If Bobby's there, we may never see Sam again."

"Who's Bobby?" Zadkiel asked, completely confused by all the information he'd received.

"Father figure to the Winchester brothers."

"A human?" Zadkiel almost yelled in surprise. "A human in the Garden? Is that possible?"

"Anything's possible with Bobby." Castiel shrugged.

"Fucking _move,_ nerds!" Dean's voice echoed down the hall. "What the hell is taking so long? Did you get lost? Or is Zadkiel actually trying to take over the bunker now? I swear to God, if Zadkiel is trying a takeover, I'm getting my angel blade right the fuck now…"

Dean appeared at the door to the movie room, red faced and huffing. The seraphs stood less than a foot from him in the hall. Zadkiel put his hands up in surrender.

"Still not taking over!" he promised.

"We were receiving an update from Raphael," Castiel explained as he pushed past Dean in the doorway.

"Oh?" Dean's demeanor completely changed, softening into the worried brother. "How's Sammy doing? Are they gonna be home soon?"

"They just finished healing the mess he made of his grace from the flight. But Sam's got some… issues," Castiel said carefully. "Let's all sit down, okay?"

"Man, don't say things like that," Dean groaned. "You make it sound terminal."

"I mentioned earlier that there were things you should know before they return," Castiel started as they all took their seats. "Raphael has only confirmed these things for me—and possibly increased them to a much greater degree than I'd originally anticipated."

"Quit talking in riddles, Cas!" Dean said, throwing a pillow at the seraph.

"The flight alone would be both terrifying and painful for Sam at his age. When an angel goes between time and space, there is no air or heartbeat. Only your grace propels your vessel—the vessel itself is frozen. Sam would have remained in that state for what felt like days or weeks before reaching Heaven, and it would have stripped his grace raw by the time he landed."

"Oh my god," Mary gasped, grabbing Dean's hand.

Castiel nodded. "Raphael and Gabriel have done what they can to layer protections over Sam's grace for the return flight, but it will still be incredibly difficult. Now that he has wings, Sam experiences flight like those flying—not like you do as humans. It is no longer instant. Even if he is not directing the flight, even if he is being protected and guided by two archangels, he will still feel every moment in between time and space."

Dean's face turned grey as he clutched his mother's hand tightly. "So, he can't breathe or move or…"

"Exactly. It is already highly stressful to him making trips around the yard. It will likely take him a while to recover from this flight—physically and emotionally."

"There is a reason we keep fledglings in our nurseries in Heaven." Zadkiel took a seat on the other side of Mary. "Their grace is highly sensitive to everything it comes in contact with. They are never taken flying so young—and certainly never out of Heaven to other dimensions such as Earth! Of course, no fledgling has ever had wings at Sam's age."

"So, you're saying that Sam's gonna be a mess when he gets home?" Dean asked in a rough voice.

"Not just Sam," Castiel clarified.

"What do you mean?" asked Mary, rubbing Dean's back with her other hand and pulling him closer.

"Gabriel is considered the leader of this flock. That is a title not taken lightly among angels. We are all _his—his_ responsibility, _his_ to protect, _his_ to nurture. Sam is _his fledgling_ who is now in crisis." Castiel took a deep breath. "Which means part of Gabriel is in crisis too. Instincts will have him saturating Sam with his grace. Normally, neither of them would have physical form—a fledgling would be fully immersed within their Caretaker. That is not possible for Sam and Gabriel. And knowing Sam, it will likely be a struggle."

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"Do you remember Sam's reaction to the grace wrap the night Raphael first healed him?"

Dean shuddered. "Yeah."

"It's much more intense and invasive than that. Gabriel's grace will literally be holding Sam on the inside—not just wrapped around his physical body. The archangels will want to protect him as much as possible for this flight and they can't do that with a simple muffling layer around his skin." Castiel looked down at the floor. "Sam has been… struggling with letting us near him these last few weeks. I do not know the reason why. I assumed it was because he did not like being touched by grace so much. But much of his mood swings are likely because his grace _needs_ to be touched."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked.

"Like any infant, touch is required to stimulate and soothe. It is an even greater need for fledglings. Angels do not require food or air or water to grow, but we do require the grace of others. That is how fledglings are nourished."

"And Sam is… not doing that?" Dean frowned, trying to follow.

"Raphael says Sam's grace is actually considered malnourished from lack of interaction," Castiel admitted.

"How is that possible?" Mary wiped tears from her cheeks. "I mean, you all interact with him constantly every day."

Castiel nodded. "I know it seems that way. But our interactions are mostly on the physical level. The only time he allows us to touch his grace is during lessons or grooming. And that is likely insufficient to what fledglings require at this stage in development. I do not know exactly—I was never a Caretaker."

"It is true," Zadkiel agreed. He had spent many hours discussing this very topic with a frustrated Nuriel since their assignment to the guard. "Fledglings spend every moment wrapped in grace for the first several centuries of their existence. It isn't until adulthood that the layers are slowly peeled back so an angel can begin their specialized training. And even then, we remained close to those in our garrisons or flocks. Heaven is made of grace—there is no avoiding it."

"Oh," Dean breathed, shaking his head, "Sam's gonna _love_ this. He already throws fits if you pick him up or ruffle his hair too much. Imagine constant hugging."

"It is more comparable to feeding him since grace nourishes on a fundamental level," Castiel pointed out.

"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically. "Because getting Sam to eat is _so_ much easier."

"You said that Gabriel would be just as bad as Sam when they return," Mary reminded them quietly. "What can we expect? What… what can we _do?_ Or not do, for that matter?"

Castiel sat back against the cushions and rubbed his brow in concentration. "Honestly, I will not know what we are dealing with until I see them. But I imagine they will appear… clingy. Gabriel may even act territorial over Sam and not want others approaching him right away until he is certain the boy is safe and settled after the flight. Everyone will be riding on instincts that have been buried since before humanity's existence."

"So, be patient and don't rush up to them when they get back," Mary offered as a condensed version of advice.

"Yes, thank you." Castiel smiled in relief. "We will need to give them all space and allow Gabriel and Sam to dictate how things go in the beginning."

"Can't they just knock him out for the flight?" Dean asked. "I mean, flying sucks no matter how it's done. But does he _have_ to be awake for it? Especially if he can't breathe or move or anything."

"I do not believe that is advisable for several reasons." Castiel frowned. "It is one thing to put the mind to sleep—but grace does not sleep. The youngest part of Sam would remain aware through the entire process but no longer have his older part conscious alongside to help process what is happening. Secondly, Sam is very against being put to sleep so things can be done to him. He would rather stay conscious through a terrible procedure than remain unaware of what is being done to him."

Dean winced. "Yeah. I get that."

 ** _Zadkiel. Castiel. We are leaving the Garden now._** Raphael sounded exhausted. **_However, we are making a detour to the nursery first._**

Both seraphs frowned at each other. That seemed like a very odd choice. And terrible timing for a tour.

"What's going on?" Dean whispered.

Castiel held up a hand, asking him to wait. **_Is everything well?_**

 ** _Samuel is… fighting Gabriel. He does not believe he is in need of comfort and is therefore holding his grace away from Gabriel. There is a lot of pent up rage in both his adult mind and the infant grace—and they are fighting each other for control._** Raphael sighed. **_Gabriel will need to work him through this before we can fly home._**

 ** _Understood,_** Castiel answered with a grimace. "There may be a delay in their return," he said to the room.

"What? Why?" Dean and Mary asked together.

"Raphael says that Sam is holding his grace away from Gabriel. He is fighting the need for comfort—both his own need to receive it and Gabriel's need to give it. They will not be able to fly safely until he is adequately protected, so they are stopping to address this issue somewhere private."

"You have private places in Heaven?" Dean asked, stunned by all the new information.

"They are taking him to one of our nurseries," Zadkiel explained.

"Oh my God," Dean whispered. "Did anyone take a camera?"

Castiel scowled. "This is serious, Dean."

"I know. Sammy's just been taken to his first nursery in Heaven. It's one for the scrapbooks!" Dean stood up from the couch. "We could blow it up and put it over a mantle. Do we even have a mantle in the bunker somewhere? What do nurseries in Heaven _look_ like? I mean, human nurseries usually have cartoon characters and soft colors… sometimes even baby angels. Oh my God, do you paint baby angels on your walls? But like, little balls of light so they look really stupid?"

"Dean." Castiel stood as well and placed a hand on the hunter's shoulder. "He will be back soon."

Zadkiel watched in silence, not understanding Dean's rambling or jokes to be signs of concern. But Castiel's words had an immediate effect on the human—his shoulders dropped, the manic glee fell away to reveal a desperate worry, and tears filled the man's eyes.

"But Cas, he's so far away. And he's fucking scared, man." Dean's voice broke as his breath caught on a sob. "He's gonna act tough because that's what we were trained to do—no crying, no whining, no pity. Suck it up and fight through it. He's not even gonna know what to _do_ with Gabe being all lovey-dovey with him. Nurseries are for _babies,_ Cas! That's just gonna make him fight harder to prove he's _not_ one."

"I know that this change has been hard to comprehend for everyone. Sam's retained his adult memories and therefore insists on being treated as a human adult. However," Castiel turned and paced around the ottomans, "the fact is, Sam _is_ a baby by angel standards. Having adult memories of almost two centuries of trauma only complicates matters."

Zadkiel nodded. "Nuriel has mentioned the same thing quite often."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean turned to Zadkiel. "What does Mary Poppins angel have to say?"

"That…" a quick glance at Castiel told him _not_ to ask or say anything about the unknown reference in the hunter's question, "Sam has a whole set of needs that are not being fulfilled because he refuses to see himself as an angel child."

"And how _does_ Sam see himself?" Dean asked with a mocking edge.

"He sees himself as an adult human who has been de-aged physically to a six-year-old. And the grace is simply a thing that gives him abilities. Perhaps he sees it as a 'good' version of the demon blood. But he does not see grace as the equivalent to a soul—as being the core spiritual essence of his person. Because it _is_." Zadkiel stood up as well and slowly walked up to Dean. "Sam _is_ his soul, which _is_ now melded with grace. And that grace _is_ an infant. It is not something he can pull out for training and push aside the rest of the time."

Dean scrubbed at his face and cleared his throat. "That's great. Has anyone told _Sam_ that yet?"

"I believe that is what Gabriel is discussing with him now," Castiel said softly.

"In the nursery," Dean said.

"Yes." Zadkiel nodded.

"Awesome," Dean muttered, shaking his head. "So, setting aside the idea that my brother doesn't return until he's fully grown again, what are we looking at here timewise? A few hours? A few days?"

 ** _How are things going?_** Zadkiel asked the guard.

 ** _Gabriel and Samuel took only Morpheus into the nursery with them. I cannot tell you how long they will take._** Nuriel sounded nervous. **_I must assume they are making progress. Gabriel made us wait by the door and he has not returned to indicate a change in plan._**

 ** _They did not take Raphael with them?_ ** Castiel asked, tilting his head in concentration.

 ** _No, they did not!_** Raphael huffed. **_I am to 'stand guard.' As though all of Heaven may rush to the nursery upon learning Samuel is in there!_**

 ** _Not too outlandish, really,_** Barachiel pointed out with a laugh. **_I would certainly find an air vent to climb through to get a peek at the new baby._**

 ** _You were also excited Samuel stabbed you!_** Nuriel scolded quietly.

 ** _Are you thinking you will return tonight, then?_** Zadkiel checked, just in case.

 ** _I certainly hope so!_** Raphael snorted. **_Father knows what Heaven would do with Samuel in it any longer than necessary. There are only so many angels left for him to stab—and I fear Gabriel may be next on his list._**

 ** _Gabriel is a fine Flock Alpha,_** Zadkiel reassured with a slight smile. **_I trust his abilities against a two-month-old fledgling any day._**

 ** _You_ have _met Samuel Winchester, have you not?_** Raphael asked wryly.

 ** _Aww, that child loves Gabriel._** Zadkiel grinned at Castiel who rolled his eyes.

Raphael laughed sharply. **_He loves Dean as well, but that does not stop them from stabbing each other. And Samuel is usually more often victorious. He may be tiny but he has speed._**

 ** _I will take that under advisement. And shall pass along the good news to the anxious humans here._** He saw Mary stand out of the corner of his eye, as though sensing the conversation coming to a close. "The plan still stands on them coming home tonight."

"Hey, if Gabe's gonna be super cling like Velcro, does that mean we get to move back into the big room again?" Dean beamed at Castiel, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

Castiel squinted at him. "I am unsure what his plans would be for tonight, but I do anticipate him quickly moving Sam back into the communal bedroom, yes."

"Should we get it ready? In case they need it tonight?" Dean shrugged like it wasn't important but his giant smile betrayed him.

"The room has remained ready every night, Dean. Gabriel kept it prepared in case Sam ever wished to return." Castiel smiled fondly. "But I understand your eagerness. It will be nice to have everyone together again."

"Oh, man. Cas, what are we gonna do until they get back? I'm gonna crawl out of my skin here!" Dean bounced on his feet again.

"Perhaps we should go outside and wait for them?" Castiel turned to Zadkiel. "We can introduce my brother to the relaxing art of making puffy white sacrifices on sticks."

"You… what?" Zadkiel gulped. An archangel's flock made sacrifices? That did not sound right.

"Ooo, good idea!" Dean clapped Zadkiel on the shoulder and dragged him joyfully from the room. "How did Gabe describe it again? We roast the sacrifices over the fire, and then place them over the dark substance that liquifies between two baked squares. Come on, nerd angel—you'll love it!"

Zadkiel let himself be led back to the kitchen. He watched as the others gleefully gathered what appeared to be food items into a basket along with several beers. Mary tried to pat his arm reassuringly, but all he could think about was how he might explain performing sacrifices to Sariel when she returned.

It was almost three in the morning. Dean and Mary collected their jackets and hats before going out into the cold. Frost covered the grass, making it sparkle in the moonlight and crunch under their steps.

The fire blazed as always within the stone pit. Heat saturated the air without dissipating into the night sky above—a trick of Gabriel's, certainly. Castiel arranged the blankets and pillows for the four of them.

Dean wasted no time in explaining the intricacies of "marshmallow sacrifices." He showed Zadkiel how to spear the puffy ball of sugar on the metal stick and the various methods for cooking it over the fire. The hunter's tone remained solemn, as though he were passing on sacred ritual instead of a campfire tradition.

Zadkiel felt a memory stir within his own vessel. Sleeping under the stars with other young boys—all wearing matching uniforms with various badges. Telling stories to thrill across the flames. Settling down into songs as the night wore on.

"Do you sing?" he asked Dean as he watched the white confection turn golden brown.

"Uh, like in general?" the human shot back in surprise.

"My vessel was once something called a 'scout.' They would camp and sing around the fire," he said, gazing into the pit without answering. "We would also sing in Heaven quite often. So many old hymns—unheard in our halls now for thousands of years."

"Okay, Gimli," Dean said, clapping him on the back. "If you wanna sing _Kumbaya_ , then be my guest."

"I do not think I know that song," Zadkiel said. "But I will sing one of our learning songs if Castiel joins me."

"What?" Castiel asked, startled. "No, brother, I have not sung in…"

"Oh, please, Castiel? It has been ages since we have sung together. Not since the end of my training days, at least," Zadkiel pleaded.

"Come on, Cas," Dean encouraged with a grin. "I bet you have a lovely singing voice."

"Fine," Castiel snapped. "Just… contain yourself."

Zadkiel took a deep breath and began his personal favorite hymn— _The Year of the Tree._ He was pleased to find his vessel's voice was a high treble. It matched his grace perfectly.

" **Life and song encircle us with the winds of Spring,**  
flashing our green leaves in the sun  
and surrounding us with the lyrics of birds.  
We are both nurturing mother and newborn infant.  
We awaken from our deep sad sleep,  
reborn with the growing sun."

Castiel joined in for the second verse, his bass adding a steady rolling depth to Zadkiel's higher tones. The seraph flushed, keeping his eyes averted to the blanket for most of the song. But his grace swirled in joy and hummed along.

" **The heavy heat of summer infuses our core**  
with a child-like joy.  
We dance rejuvenated  
in warm rains and  
talk quietly with the moon.  
All things are possible  
and the world is our companion.

" **But the sun grows old**  
and we feel ourselves start to change.  
We are ablaze with color—  
a final burst of brightness before the long sleep of winter.  
The color fades and we grow mellow and cold.  
The world becomes dark around us  
and we shiver naked in the Fall.  
Our roots burrow deeper,  
clinging desperately to Earth and life,  
fearing the time ahead.

" **Winter is death.**  
The world is full of ice and pain.  
We close our eyes and hold our breath.  
No one hears our cries,  
so, we go to sleep.  
Only our roots remain—  
buried below the frozen ground  
and praying for the return of Spring."

The notes lingered in the air, echoing into the trees and stars. Zadkiel felt the forest sigh to hear their song voiced by angels once more. The woods _should_ be sung their own hymns—they were some of the earliest teachers to the Host.

"How—" Dean started, then cleared his throat. "How have I never heard you sing before, Cas?"

Castiel shrugged. "I am sure you've heard me hum along to some tune on the radio at some…"

"No," Dean cut him off quietly. "I mean sing like _that_. Like you did just now. I've never heard that sound come out of you before this moment."

"I guess… it's been hard to find reasons to sing," Castiel gave the hunter a soft smile, "until recently."

 ** _We are heading once again for Heart Hall,_** Nuriel's voice said quietly. **_From there, we will fly back to the bunker soon._**

 ** _How are they?_** Zadkiel asked, worried for Sam. A fledgling had never been flown from Heaven before. And one had certainly never flown _into_ Heaven from Earth on their own.

 ** _Shaken. Emotional. I do not know what all was said or done inside the nursery, but I believe it likely delved into some deeply personal subjects for both of them. However, Samuel is now allowing Gabriel's grace to fully swaddle him from the inside. We can fly back safely._** The Caretaker sounded shaken herself. And exhausted.

 ** _We are all outside by the fire,_** Zadkiel let her know. **_Safe travels, sister._**

"Is everything okay?" Mary asked, laying a hand on his elbow.

Zadkiel smiled. "They are walking back to Heart Hall right now and shall return here soon."

"Really!?" Mary sat up in excitement.

"Really," Zadkiel reassured.

"And Sammy's okay?" Dean asked, looking at Castiel for answers.

"Sam is emotional but has allowed Gabriel to do what is needed to get him home safely," Castiel said carefully.

"Uh huh," Dean squinted at him. "So, you're saying he's a wreck."

"Yes." Castiel nodded.

"Good to know. We'll try not to tackle them as they land." Dean stood and stretched. Then, stashing their supplies back into the basket.

"I would _highly_ recommend _not_ tackling anyone when they land," Castiel said, grabbing the hunter's shoulder. "Gabriel may accidentally smite you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna tackle them, Cas. Chill. I have a few self-preservation instincts left."

 ** _We are leaving now,_** Raphael informed them.

Castiel stood up and turned toward the yard. "They're on their way," he said simply. The others turned in anticipation as well.

Zadkiel saw them approach. The two archangels were easy to make out—Sam's tiny light stashed inside of Gabriel's golden glow. And _three_ seraphs surrounding them? There was not time to wonder who the newcomer might be. Within seconds, the air was filled with the sound of wings.

All eyes immediately went to Gabriel, including those who just landed.

The archangel unzipped his jacket until Sam's head appeared. The boy's eyes were closed, his face lax against Gabriel's chest. "Come on, Sammy, open your eyes," Gabriel muttered, kneeling down on the grass. "Let me know you're okay in there."

Zadkiel saw the golden glow of grace diminish slightly as Gabriel eased it back. Raphael was frowning, slowly edging closer with Morpheus and whispering to his brother. The others also looked worried.

Gabriel ripped the zipper all the way down and pulled Sam around in his arms so he laid across his lap. "Sam Winchester, I know you like to forget some of your senses after flying, but breathing is _not_ one of them!" He rubbed harshly across the boy's chest. "And I don't care how stoned I made you, we're back on Earth and you have to breathe air here."

Dean slowly walked past the still figures, ignoring the frantic whispers of Castiel and Mary. "Gabriel," he said softly, keeping his hands out in a non-threatening manner, "can I help?"

Gabriel looked up, eyes flashing at the intruder, but then he nodded. "Hey, Deano," he rasped. "It's been a rough night. The flight… he can't breathe in between and I doped him up on grace…"

"It's okay," Dean said gently. "Can I try something? It's a human thing—brains and bodies are funny."

"Yes, yes!" Gabriel nodded eagerly. "Please!"

Dean crouched next to them. He pinched Sam's nose, tilting the boy's head back, and blew firmly into his mouth. Sam's chest expanded and there was an immediate explosion of coughing.

Sam twisted upright in Gabriel's lap, narrowly missing Dean with a fist. " **I no like! No! Fuck you!** " he gasped as tears began pouring down his cheeks. " **That song… song…** that song sucks! It had almost fifty verses and I didn't know any of them except that one about the goddamn rings! And what the fuck does twenty-six pied pipers piping mean? Are they playing a flute or an organ or are they smoking a pipe?"

"Whoa dude," Dean said with a laugh. "What kind of magic mushrooms did Gabe give you before you tripped back to Earth, huh? Take a deep breath, Sam. No one's smoking any pipes."

"Almost fifty verses!? You'll have to sing them to me sometime." Gabriel laughed, kissing the boy's forehead despite the angry fists that kept aiming for his face and chest. "Now settle down before you punch your brother. Come on, relax and breathe."

Sam buried his face against Gabriel's shirt and took a ragged breath through his sobs. The archangel just rubbed his back and whispered encouragements to him as the boy slowly calmed down. He did not seem startled by Sam's emotional outburst—but the rest of the onlookers certainly were.

"Is he okay?" Dean whispered.

"Oh, yeah. He's fine." Gabriel nodded. "Just coming down off the grace-rush. Like I said, it's been a rough night. It'll take a while for him to regain his equilibrium—days, maybe a few weeks even."

"Well, I can deal with a weepy Sammy," Dean smirked, running his hands through the boy's hair. "Ain't that right, little brother? We're all about the chick-flick moments in this family."

Sam turned toward him, catching the hunter's hand before it was pulled away. "Dean?" he asked between hiccups.

"Yup."

"Are… are you dead?" Sam blinked several times, trying to clear the tears from his eyes.

"Uh, don't think so. Why? Do I look that bad?"

Sam turned back to Gabriel in confusion. "Are we…?"

"We're back at the bunker, kiddo," Gabriel said softly. "Your mom and Cassie are standing by the fire, waiting for their turn to rush over here and check on you. Dean doesn't wait for turns, of course."

Sam swung his head back toward his brother. "Dean?!"

"That's me!" Dean grinned, leaning down to hug the boy as another round of fresh tears began. "Oh man, we're getting weepy Sam in full-force! It's cool, little bro. You made it home. I'd be weepy too if I had to fucking fly through dimensions. You know me—I don't even like planes!"

"I didn't mean to leave!" Sam cried into Dean's collar.

"Dude, I know. Who plans to fly off in their sleep? No one!" Dean leaned back and wiped his brother's face with his sleeves. "Now, calm down so we can go inside and duct tape you to a bed and get some real sleep, okay?"

"I don't think the duct tape will be necessary," Gabriel laughed. "I'll be keeping him tethered to me for the foreseeable future—especially when he's asleep!"

"I told you'd need one of those kid harnesses." Dean stood up and offered a hand to the archangel who slapped it away with another laugh. "And angel baby gates! The kid fell up a tree on day, like, two or three. We're gonna need to put up some nets or something."

"Oh, that's why we brought Barry! He's our newest guard member." Gabriel stood, wrapping his jacket around Sam again. "Barry, meet the flock! This is Dean. Mary is over by the fire with Castiel, whom you should know already."

Barachiel waved cheerfully at them all. "Father, it feels good to be back on Earth!" he beamed, stomping his feet.

"Oh." Dean did a double take. "You… you're rather peppy, aren't you, for an angel?"

"He's been like that since _before_ I stabbed him," Sam sighed.

"Ahh, so you're the one," Dean said. "I heard about you earlier tonight. You know, it was because of _you_ that I wasn't allowed to stab Zadkiel here!"

"Also, because I wasn't actually trying to take over the bunker," Zadkiel reminded him.

"That's besides the point, nerd!"

The guard remained in the yard as the flock began filing toward the bunker. A few feet into their trek, Dean turned around and frowned. Zadkiel scanned the yard, looking for threats.

"Oh," the hunter said in surprise, "I guess… I forgot you guys stayed out here."

"Yes." Zadkiel grinned. "We find it easiest to plan all our incursions from the treetops where you cannot see us."

Dean scowled. "Well, try harder next time."

"I'll do that. Sleep well, Winchesters." Zadkiel flew to his post with the rest of the guard and watched the flock from up high.

 _Gabriel is already having to reassure Dean that he will let you come to breakfast,_ Castiel said as the door shut on the bunker. _I believe you have made a new friend._

Zadkiel looked over at Barachiel who was showing his scar to an unimpressed Sariel. _I believe there have been a few friends made tonight._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S** **  
**LIFE IS STILL CRAZY...BUT it loooks like I MAY have a place to move to...in the magical land of NARNIA-I mean FLORIDA!  
Keep your fingers crossed that transportation works out...I'm packing my shit, packing the cats, learning about gators, and ready for a new start!  
Thanks to everyone for all their support and kind words!


	42. Teach Your Children pt13

**Part 13: ...Is the One You'll Know By**

Gabriel carried Sam into the bunker, comforted by the fact that his flock once again surrounded him. Castiel's refreshing grace reached out to curl against him in tentative reassurance and welcome. The warm glow of Dean and Mary's souls followed him down the stairs.

They were _home_.

The boy in his arms still shook from their flight. His young grace clung frantically to the archangel's energy, pulling it closer with a sharp, painful grip. Sam's fingers twisted in the fabric of Gabriel's shirt—the only outward sign that he didn't wish to be let down.

"Hold on, kiddo," he murmured as they walked through the war room. "We'll get you settled in just a minute."

Sam didn't answer. His body remained plastered to Gabriel's chest as his eyes stared glassily at nothing. Tremors regularly worked their way through the small frame.

After the initial angry outburst about song lyrics and disorientation, Sam had fallen silent. Gabriel dialed back his grace so it was no longer at drug-levels, but kept it wrapped protectively around them both. The kid needed to know that returning home would not put an end to the care and comfort he kept trying to deny himself.

"How is he?" Mary asked, walking faster to move alongside them.

"Tired and out of it," Gabriel said with a small smile. "I'm hoping he'll sleep for a day or so once he conks out."

"Good luck with that." Dean snorted from behind them. "Judging by that far-off look in his eyes and how he's holding himself, I doubt he'll fall asleep anytime soon."

"Well, we aren't busting out whisky," Gabriel said dryly. He hoisted Sam up on his hip and leaned to look into the boy's face. "What do you think—warm milk or hot tea?"

 _No,_ Sam answered through his grace while turning his face into Gabriel's shirt.

"You sure?" Gabriel lightly scratched the back of Sam's hair. "You're a bit dehydrated from all your adventures tonight. You want something else instead?"

 _No._

"Okay." He frowned, unsure of Sam's resistance.

"What?" Dean asked, looking worriedly at his brother.

"Sam is decidedly against drinks right now," he said with a raised eyebrow, silently seeking answers.

 _He rarely drinks anything in the hours before sleep,_ Morpheus informed him from the back of the group.

"I dunno, man. He's weird like that sometimes." Dean shrugged. "Are we staying in the big bedroom again?"

"Yup," Gabriel said, filing Morpheus' insight away for later. "No more sleeping alone for this one. It's not healthy _or_ safe right now."

"Good." Dean's entire body sagged in relief. "That… that's good."

"Aww." Gabriel grinned and leaned to whisper in Sam's ear, "I think Deano's missed sleeping with you wedged beside him."

"Whatever," Dean scoffed. "It's more like I'll be _able_ to sleep knowing he isn't flying off to Neverland or reading dangerous books under his covers."

Sam tensed and pushed his face harder against Gabriel's chest.

"Well, I'm sure he'll sleep better knowing he doesn't _need_ to read those kinds of books because we aren't going anywhere." He rubbed Sam's back. "And Neverland was an accident. We are definitely taking precautions to prevent future trips."

"Good," Dean said with a nod.

The communal bedroom—the center of the nest—was just as Gabriel had left it. All the bedding was fresh and clean and ready to be slept in. It just needed his flock.

He dropped onto the sofa with a sigh. Archangels might not get physically tired the same as humans but _damn_ was he tired in other ways. His grace ached from being wrapped around a fledgling again—a familiar throb from eons ago. But it had never experienced a young angel like Sam before.

"How are we doing, kiddo?" Gabriel murmured.

Sam grunted and pushed closer.

"I hear ya." He considered shifting Sam to a more comfortable position but decided against it. The boy was wound too tight, clinging to him with body and grace. It was probably best to just let him unwind at his own pace.

Dean sat next to them and stared worriedly at his brother. "Still breathing, Sammy?"

Sam nodded without turning his head.

"That's good," Dean said, nodding. "You just… keep doing that, okay?"

A small hand inched across Gabriel's shirt in the direction of the hunter, not quite willing to let go of the fabric but definitely trying to reach his brother. The boy's grace twisted toward the bright soul next to them too. "Dean," Gabriel whispered and nodded down at the creeping fingers.

Dean's entire expression melted as he met Sam's blindly reaching hand with his own. "I'm right here, dude." His pointer and middle finger were quickly bound in Sam's grip. Dean wrapped the rest of his fingers around the small fist so they were holding onto each other.

Sam let out a shuddered breath and relaxed slightly.

"So, did we miss anything fun tonight?" Gabriel asked after a moment of silence.

"You mean after we were deafened by your lovely musical alarm?" Mary scoffed and sat in an armchair across from them. "We may have emptied half the pantry in our mission to teach Zadkiel how to taste things."

"My music—oh yeah! Oops!" He grinned. "I had, what, 'Frantic' by Metallica set as my _Sam's gone missing from the bunker_ alarm?"

"Yeah, I thought we talked about this," Dean said with a frown. "How we _weren't_ going to have musical alarms going off."

"Where's the fun in that?" Gabriel asked. "Would you rather have sirens and flashing lights?"

"Can we at least get the playlist for all your alarms? I have no idea what the different songs mean," Dean sighed, giving up the argument.

"Deal!" Gabriel snapped and stack of papers landed on Dean's lap.

"Are you shitting me?" the hunter asked.

"I would never shit you about security systems."

"There are over a hundred songs here!" Dean yelled, flipping through the pages one-handed.

Castiel sat next to Dean on the sofa. He studied the list over the hunter's shoulder. Some he recognized but there were several he had never heard before. "What is 'Kiss from a Rose' and why does it only have heart emojis instead of a scenario listed?"

"That is for me to know," Gabriel gave his lewdest smile, "and hopefully _you_ to find out."

"'Who Let the Dogs Out?' for if Morpheus magically gives birth to a litter of puppies…" Dean's voice cracked. "Is this even possible?"

Morpheus made a choked whining noise.

"I like to be prepared," Gabriel said simply.

Sam shifted in his arms, relaxing further with their banter. Without the extreme tension, his body slid down Gabriel's chest so he knelt on the archangel's thighs. Slowly, he turned his head toward his brother and blinked against the room's lights.

"Hey there, Sammy," Dean whispered, his entire demeanor changing. He pushed the papers at Castiel. The seraph carefully folded them before they disappeared into his coat.

The boy gave a half-smile. Then, his nose wrinkled up like he was going to sneeze. His looked from the hand holding Dean's to the one clenched in Gabriel's shirt before starting to turn his head back into the fabric.

"Hold it," Gabriel ordered and Sam froze. "Are you about to wipe your nose on my shirt, young man?"

There was a brief pause. _Nooo,_ Sam said silently as he slowly shook his head back and forth. Of course, it was conveniently against Gabriel's shirt.

"Brat," he whispered. "Is there any part of my clothes not covered in your snot?"

 _Your socks?_

"Only because you can't reach my feet and they're covered in shoes." Gabriel snapped up a hanky and repositioned Sam so he sat sideways facing Dean. "Man, I'm gonna have to invest in baby wipes or something. You're a mess."

Sam didn't release his grip on the shirt or his brother but still tried to squirm away from the hanky. _I'm not a mess! My nose just itched._

"Your nose itched _because_ you're a mess. Hold still." Gabriel managed to wipe the traces of tears and sweat from the boy's face. "There. You're mildly decent again."

 ** _Brother, may I check him once he is more settled?_** Raphael stood behind Mary's chair, watching Sam closely. **_I cannot tell from here how much the flight affected his grace. He may need more healing before he sleeps._**

 ** _Good idea._** Gabriel gave a nod, then looked down at Sam. The young grace _seemed_ unharmed by their flight from Heaven. But with Sam's inability to recognize his own needs and instincts it was best if they monitored him closely for a while. "Hey, kiddo. You think it would be okay if Raphael took a look at you before bedtime?"

Tiny fingers tightened their grip on his shirt and there was a flare a panic through Sam's grace. Guarded hazel eyes met Gabriel's gaze for a moment before the boy took a deep breath and nodded. _Yeah. Of course._ Sam released his hold on the fabric and Dean's hand.

"Whoa," Gabriel said, frowning at the sudden change. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. _Nothing. It's fine._

"No, something's wrong." Gabriel tilted the kid's face toward him, forcing him to make eye contact. _You are upset._

 _I'm just tired,_ Sam insisted with a forced smile.

Gabriel felt him start to move before it happened. Small muscles tightened, preparing to jump down to the floor. He had his arm wrapped around Sam's belly just as the boy began to slip from his lap.

He glanced up to find Raphael frozen mid-stride—like he'd gone to intercept Sam and quit when he realized Gabriel had him. Castiel made a noise of dismay and held Dean's arm in a death grip. The two humans stared at them all in confusion, unsure of everyone's reactions.

"Um, what _exactly_ are you doing?" Gabriel asked with a bewildered little laugh.

 _You…_ Sam flailed forward, disoriented by the sudden stop. His hands latched on to Gabriel's arm—the only thing holding him in place. _You said Raphael needed to look me over._

"He did not say you should throw yourself to the floor," Raphael chided, walking forward to sit on the coffee table in front of them. "I can look you over right here, you ridiculous child."

"Why…?" Gabriel pulled him back onto his lap, wrapping arms and grace around the fidgeting fledgling. "Why would you think I wanted you to run across the room?"

Sam shrugged and avoided eye contact.

Morpheus shifted down to his small size and darted through the group to land on the couch next to his charge. Once in place, he shifted back to a chorus of protests—the couch was _not_ large enough to hold three adults, a child, and a small pony. The shifter nuzzled at Sam's face until the boy looked at him.

 _Can you hear me now, pup?_

Sam jumped, then nodded.

 _Good._ He pinned Sam with a look. _Stay. You do not need to repeat your experiment from Heaven's nursery._

"Okay," Dean interrupted, drawing the word out slowly, "a person with wings needs to explain because _some_ of us have no freakin' clue what's going on right now."

"Samuel mistakenly believed that for me to examine him meant he should separate himself from Gabriel," Raphael said with a long-suffering sigh. "Perhaps the flight addled him after all."

"Wow." Dean gave a low whistle and turned to Castiel. "When you said they'd be clingy, you weren't kidding."

"It's a bit more than clinginess, Deano," Gabriel explained. He repositioned Sam so they faced each other, allowing Raphael access to the boy's wings. When he continued speaking, he kept his eyes locked with Sam's gaze so there was no confusion that his words were meant for _both_ brothers. "Our graces are meshed together right now. If we physically separated, then it would cause strain on that connection. And by 'strain,' I mean 'our graces would claw their way back to one another and it would be extremely uncomfortable for all parties involved.'"

Sam's eyes widened. _It… your grace would do the same thing mine did?_

"Yes, Sam. My grace would react very similar to your own. Except it's a lot older and stronger and more experienced. So, let's just avoid embarrassment for everyone by _not_ sending the ancient energy into a tantrum, okay?" Gabriel smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

 _How long?_ Sam asked.

"'How long' what?"

 _How long will it be like this for you?_ The kid fiddled with Gabriel's shirt, his eyes dropping away from the archangel's face. _How long will you be stuck carrying me around or else risk your grace tearing its way through your chest?_

Gabriel pursed his lips in thought. He doubted there'd ever come a time when he wouldn't want to hold Sam. "I'm pretty sure I'll feel like this long after you've reached adulthood again."

 _Seriously!?_ Sam choked in horror. _Oh God, that's… No. I'm so sorry!_

"You're… what?" Gabriel laughed, confused. "Dad help me, I need a translator because we are clearly having different conversations here! Why the hell are you sorry?"

"Brother, he wants to know how long this extreme _need_ for physical contact will continue," Raphael sighed, "not how long you _wish_ to carry him around."

"Is there a difference?" Gabriel smirked.

Raphael kicked his shin. "Yes, there is."

"Ow! Fine," he looked at the sullen boy and tapped his chin, "a week, maybe two. A month at the most. Then you can run around, tripping on your own feet again."

 _Oh._ Sam chewed his lip, losing some of his extreme panic. _Still, almost a month? I'm sorry._

"Hey," Gabriel frowned and tapped Sam's chin again until he looked up, "why do you keep apologizing?"

 _Because,_ Sam shrugged, _that's a long time to have me basically living up your ass twenty-four/seven._

"You think…" Gabriel shook his head. _Listen, if it were up to me, I would keep you by my side for the next several eons. Did you already forget what I said up in Heaven?_

 _No._ Sam's brow furrowed as he thought. _Wait, which part?_

 _The part where you are mine, Sam Winchester._ He brushed the curls out of Sam's eyes. _Remember that conversation?_

Sam blushed and nodded. The young grace warmed with the memory, swirling against Gabriel. But the boy was still hesitant—still reluctant to accept the truth.

 _Has anything changed in the last hour?_

Sam glanced at his brother and Castiel. He gave a slight shake of his head without looking up. The message was clear—being back home and around people was a change.

"O-oh, I see," Gabriel said softly, running his fingers through Sam's hair. "You thought we'd come home and just pretend everything we did and said in Heaven was like some fever dream, right? Or did you think I said those things just to get the reaction I needed but weren't really true?"

Sam tried to shrug and shake his head at the same time. It came out as an awkward full-body shudder instead. He curled forward, pressing his forehead against Gabriel's chest.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Alright, Raph—take a peek at this kid for me. He needs to sleep sometime before the new year." He held Sam close, keeping his hands on the boy's hair and lower back. They would need to have _so many_ conversations in the near future—possibly even tonight. _I guess it's a good thing he won't be able to avoid talking to me the next few weeks,_ he thought wryly.

Raphael carefully ran his fingers and grace over Sam's shoulders before actually touching his wings. " **Easy, little one,** " the Healer said when Sam flinched. " **I am only looking right now. There does not seem to be anything that requires immediate attention.** "

Gabriel stopped himself from pulling Sam away from the other archangel. Raphael's grace, while familiar, was still an intrusion. But it did neither of them any good to isolate away from the rest of the flock just because they were bound so close together.

A heavy warmth swept across Gabriel's shoulders, smacking the back of his head as it went. He looked up to find Raphael smirking. **_Relax, brother. You know I am not going to come between you two. Settle yourself. If Samuel growls at me because he picks up on your territorial nature then I will not be able to contain myself—I will laugh at you both._**

 ** _Rude!_** Gabriel grinned but did as he was told. "So," he said, glancing at Dean and Castiel, "you emptied the pantry teaching Zadkiel to taste things, huh?"

"Oh man, you would have been so proud of Cas! He had that nerd tasting things in under twenty minutes." Dean's grin suddenly turned to a scowl. "Of course, he fed your brother the most disgusting things ever, so he lost points for food choices."

"I'm pretty sure _you_ were the one trying to get Zadkiel to eat a whole clove of garlic," Mary said pointedly.

"That was _after_ he'd already proved to be a huge weirdo for liking all that shit Cas fed him," Dean argued. He elbowed Castiel in the ribs and side-eyed him. "Lemons and coffee and potato chips, dude?! Really?!"

Castiel shrugged, squinting his eyes at the hunter. "It worked," he said simply.

Gabriel laughed quietly as they continued listing the various things they did that evening. Their voices calmed him—and Sam. The boy uncurled and watched their brothers playfully argue, no longer focused solely on Raphael's exam.

The Healer's grace flowed over frayed pathways to reinforce the protective barriers. They looked awful. The flight to Heaven had shredded every ounce of work they'd done in the past weeks. And while it didn't seem like the return trip had caused further injury, it certainly hadn't done them any favors either.

"Okay," Raphael finally said, leaning back. "I've wrapped a few more layers around your wings. We will need to work on them tomorrow but this will keep them secure until then."

"Any complications from the flight home?" Gabriel asked.

"None that I noticed. His grace is exhausted and strained, but that was from his flight into Heaven." Raphael reached forward and ruffled Gabriel's hair. "You kept him well protected, brother. He needs rest and nourishment—both for his grace and body. You were right about the dehydration."

"What do you say? You ready for that drink now?" Gabriel pushed the hair back from Sam's eyes but the kid just shook his head and wouldn't look at him. Sighing in defeat, he said, "Well, can't blame a guy for trying. Okay, folks, it's way past bedtime for this flock. It's dawn-o-clock out there. I'm turning off everyone's alarms and you are all expected to sleep well past lunchtime, understood?"

"I think we can handle that," Mary said with a yawn. She walked toward them, leaning down to plant a kiss on Sam's temple. "I love you, Sammy. Get some rest, okay? No more flying tonight."

Sam grabbed her hand and dragged it to his face. He kissed the back of her knuckles. Blushing fiercely, he let go of her hand.

"That goes for both of you," Mary laughed and surprised Gabriel with a kiss to his cheek too.

"Such a gentleman," Dean chuckled, clapping his brother on the back as he stood up and stretched. He pushed past Castiel and flopped onto the main bed with a groan. "Man, I could sleep for a week."

"I'd settle for you sleeping through an entire night," Castiel said, rolling his eyes. He turned to Sam. "I am glad you are home and safe. We were all very worried."

 _Thanks, Cas,_ Sam replied through his grace, smiling shyly. _I didn't mean to worry everyone. I didn't even mean to go anywhere._

"I know." Castiel returned the smile. "It wasn't your fault."

Sam's smile slipped and he shrugged instead of answering.

"Don't worry," Gabriel said to them both, "there won't be any more flying for a while. Especially unscheduled trips! We're staying right here." He wrapped his arms around Sam and just held him close. The boy's muscles tightened for a moment before relaxing.

 _Gabriel,_ Sam's voice whispered in his mind, a _m I gonna sleep on the couch?_

 _No, you're not sleeping on the couch!_ Gabriel scoffed. He snagged the blanket that was draped on the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Sam's shoulders. Getting an arm under the kid's knees, he pulled Sam to lay sideways.

 _What…?_ Sam sounded startled. His hands grabbed Gabriel's shirt as he was tilted without warning.

 _I already said you're sleeping right here. So, close those eyes and relax. There's no way you're flying anywhere with me holding on to you._

 _Um,_ Sam frowned. _I didn't realize you meant that literally._

 _You thought I was going to metaphorically hold on to you?_ Gabriel watched the others settle into their beds. He wanted to cheer when Castiel _actually_ took off his shoes and coat and laid down next to Dean.

 _Kinda, yeah._ Sam squirmed. _Gabriel, you can't hold me every night. I'll never be able to sleep like this!_

 _Why? Are you uncomfortable?_ He adjusted the blanket, making sure it wasn't wrapped around Sam's feet in a confining way.

 _It's… weird._

 _Bad-weird?_ He suddenly worried he was pushing too much on Sam. Maybe being held by an archangel all night _wasn't_ a good idea.

 _No, not… bad. Just weird._

 _Well, try and relax. Your body and grace are exhausted. And I know that big brain of yours has to be too._

Raphael lowered the lights in the room with a wave of his hand and settled into an armchair. Mary fell asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow. Dean hadn't moved since landing on the bed.

Morpheus shifted down to his smaller size and curled against Gabriel's hip. _Goodnight, pup. I am right here if you need anything._ Sam snaked an arm out of the blanket to give him a quick pet behind the ears.

Gabriel smiled and relaxed into the cushions. The longest night ever had already turned to day but at least they'd reached the end. He swayed gently on the sofa and waited for Sam to follow the others into sleep.

* * *

Sam tried to sleep. He closed his eyes and held his body as still as possible. But it didn't stop his mind from racing. How could so many things happen in just a few short hours?

The flight home had been terrifying, even with the grace drugging him. He'd never be able to hear _The Twelve Days of Christmas_ again without thinking he was falling through space and time. His breath caught in his throat at the memory of the empty _between_.

But it was the earlier events of the evening that haunted him the most. The conversation with Gabriel in the nursery. Leaving Bobby behind again. Fighting against all the angels in the Hall. Gabriel and Raphael discovering the book in his bedroom.

Sam shifted around so he could scratch his arms under the blanket. He couldn't remember ever being held this way—especially not at bedtime. Dean had barely been big enough to hold him as a kid. They usually just curled up together like lost puppies in the middle of the bed until they were deemed "too old" for such behavior. And their dad hadn't exactly been big on cuddles.

Besides, the angle felt all wrong for sleeping—he couldn't stretch out or flop over. It was like a hug that never ended. His feet moved restlessly along the couch cushion as he scratched his neck. Everything itched.

 _You got ants in your pants or something?_ Gabriel asked, pulling the blanket away from his face.

 _Sorry._ Sam stilled his movements, opting to chew on the edge of a fingernail instead. The pinch provided some relief to the feeling of static running along his skin.

Gabriel studied him for a moment. _You having trouble sleeping?_

 _A little._ Sam shrugged. He was beyond exhausted—that was the problem. He felt wired. It always happened after a long hunt when he'd run on coffee and adrenaline and fumes for days. When the hunt ended, it sometimes took another day or two for his body and mind to shut down.

"Hmm." The archangel hummed as he thought. He pulled the blanket down further and turned Sam's arm over. Long red scratches were visible against his pale skin. _Are you itchy? Or is it nerves?_ he asked, frowning in concern.

Sam shrugged again. What did it matter? Both made him scratch.

"Let him rinse off in the shower, change his clothes, and stretch out on the other bed like normal sleeping people," Dean's muffled voice broke the silence of the room.

"What?" Gabriel asked, looking startled.

Dean rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow, squinting at them in the dark. "Sam sweats like an ice cube in a frying pan. It's probably all stuck to his skin. Plus whatever shit he picked up in Heaven. He never sleeps after sweating that much. And if you cocoon him in a blanket, he's just gonna sweat more. The kid moves like he's running races in his sleep. He needs to stretch out next to you."

 _Oh my God,_ Sam groaned to Gabriel, _I thought he was asleep._

 _I guess his big brother senses were tingling,_ Gabriel said with a grin. "Okay, Deano—bath, clothes, and stretching. Anything else?"

"Just watch your shins. He kicks," Dean answered, then flopped back onto his pillow.

"Sounds like a plan. You joining us, furball?" Gabriel asked Morpheus as he peeled the blanket away and stood, balancing Sam on his hip.

 _Of course._ Morpheus leapt from the couch, shifting to his larger size before his feet hit the ground. _Someone should keep an eye on you two. Trouble seems to follow wherever you go._

"Fair point," Gabriel conceded. "Any requests, Samshine? Favorite music? Rainbow bubbles that sparkle and smell like birthday cake?"

Sam shook his head as they made their way out of the room. As much as he wanted to clean up and change his clothes, this also presented another stressful situation. He and Gabriel would be alone again—which seemed to keep leading to long and painful conversations.

 _I don't need a bath, Gabriel. I can just rinse off with the showerhead._

"Pfffft," Gabriel laughed. "That's not very relaxing. No, you're getting the full spa treatment. Otherwise, you'll still be awake at Christmas."

 _I don't even know what 'full spa treatment' means._

"No worries! I won't let you live in ignorance while I'm around." The archangel's smile was a little too gleeful to be reassuring.

They stopped by Sam's room to gather fresh clothes. The bed looked like it had been stripped in a hurry with his pillows and sheets on the floor. He tried not to imagine Dean and the others running in to find it like that.

 _Are we sure Morpheus is okay? Did Raphael look him over?_ Sam stared at the canine, searching for any sign of lingering injury or distress. _How do we know that I didn't hurt him in the flight? Or that being in Heaven didn't hurt him? Actually, how was he able to_ be _in Heaven at all? I thought it killed any living being._

"Whoa there, mister. One question at a time." Gabriel grabbed pajamas from a drawer. "Yes, Morpheus is okay. Yes, Raphael really looked him over. Raphael protected him on the flight home and would have had a very close look at Morpheus before leaving."

 _Are you still fretting over me, pup?_ Morpheus chuffed as they walked toward the bathroom.

"He's fretting about everything," Gabriel answered for him. "Now, I don't _think_ your flight there hurt him. But I do know that he's able to freely move about Heaven and Hell without being harmed by the location itself thanks to a nifty artifact from Hecate."

 _I am perfectly well. The only injury I sustained was when you were fighting off the angels and that was not serious. Nuriel barely even provided any healing—it only served to wake me up faster._

 _You sure?_ Sam asked. They entered the bathroom and the bright light allowed him to see Morpheus even clearer.

"He wants to know if you're sure," Gabriel relayed, sitting down on the toilet seat lid and starting the water.

Morpheus moved closer to stare into Sam's face. _I believe the Healer may need to take another look at_ you, _pup. It seems he missed something in your poor brain._

Sam carefully ran his fingers through the shifter's fur, both for reassurance and to search for any hidden injuries. He couldn't get the image of Morpheus lying motionless on the ground out of his mind. The spotless fur parted like silk and he wondered how it stayed so clean.

 _It reverts to its original form whenever I shift. Even if you dyed or cut it, everything would return to normal once I changed size._ Morpheus landed a lick on Sam's nose.

 _Are you… hearing my thoughts?_ Sam asked, eyes wide in surprise.

"He thinks you're reading his mind," Gabriel said as he adjusted the water temperature for the fifth time. He threw a handful of something into the tub which rapidly turned the water dark blue and filled the air with the scent of jasmine and rain.

 _I do not need to read your mind,_ Morpheus explained. _I can read your face._

 _Tell him to leave my face out of this._ Sam groaned, covering the canine's eyes with his hand. _And why is the water blue? What did you put in it—a bath bomb?_

"I don't need to—your face is already saying it loud and clear." Gabriel said with a smirk. "The water is blue to help keep you modest. I'm surprised you've even heard of a bath bomb."

Morpheus shook his head and licked at Sam's hands and arms. What started as a few playful laps quickly turned into a methodical washing of his skin. _Ugh, your brother is right—you do sweat a lot. No wonder you couldn't get comfortable._

 _Well, your slobber is_ not _going to make it better!_ Sam tried to push Morpheus away, but every attempt ended in even more licks. _Gabriel, make him stop!_

The tongue disappeared when Sam's shirt unexpectedly covered his head. The rush of pouring water went silent. "You're in luck," Gabriel said, wrestling the shirt all the way off of him. "I can't make him stop but I _can_ hide you in the bath, Sam-a-lam."

 _I don't know if I'd count a bathtub as a hiding spot._ Sam shot the archangel an incredulous look as he was allowed to drop to the floor and strip off his pants. _It's really just a Morpheus-sized water bowl._

"Morpheus already said you taste terrible," Gabriel snorted and quickly transferred Sam into the gloriously hot water. "I think you're safe for now. Of course, he may change his mind once you're clean."

All thought of a comeback left Sam's mind as soon as his body was submerged in the water. He actually groaned as the heat spread through his aching muscles. They'd been so tense for so long he hadn't realized how much they hurt until now.

A soft hot cloth against his back made Sam jump.

"Relax," Gabriel sang quietly. He was kneeling beside the tub, sleeves rolled up past the elbows. "Let your mind and body calm down. I'll focus on the rest."

Sam felt his mind and body do the exact opposite as the archangel ran the cloth along his spine. It felt _good_. But he was still being bathed by another person—while _naked_. When was the last time that had happened?

John stopped helping with baths once Dean could get himself and Sam into the tub on his own. The brothers had bathed together in the early years—when Dean was too small to reach Sam over the edge of the tub and Sam was too small to safely sit by himself. Memories of dingy motel room bathtubs, soap burning his eyes, and water that was too cold flowed through his mind.

"If I told you to tense completely, do you think you'd actually loosen up?" Gabriel joked as he gently tugged on Sam's rigid arm.

 _Sorry,_ Sam said with a sigh. He tried forcing his arm to go limp. It twitched in the archangel's grasp instead.

"You okay?"

 _Yeah._ He stared down at his reflection in the indigo water while Gabriel wiped the sweat from his arm. _Just thinking. Remembering the last time someone had_ given _me a bath that wasn't because of an illness or hunting injury._ The ice bath during the Trials probably didn't count.

"Hmm," Gabriel hummed without comment. He repeated the process with the other arm, then handed Sam the cloth. "Here, you get the parts below the water."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Sam made quick work of washing everything below his waist. As nice as it was to have his back washed, there were some things he wanted to continue doing himself. He was sure to get the soles of his feet extra clean—Heaven apparently had _filthy_ floors.

"And now, for the pièce de résistance," Gabriel wiggled his fingers dramatically. "Are you ready to have the best hair washing of your life?"

 _Um…_ Sam panicked as he thought of soap in his eyes and Dean screaming at him to stay still. _Do we have to?_

"Do we have to wash your hair?" Gabriel frowned. "I mean, technically I could use grace to clean it but you're pretty overstimulated already. It'll be better to just wash it manually. Plus, _magic fingers_!" He wiggled his fingers again.

 _I guess._ Sam's shoulders dropped in resignation to his fate. _Just… try not to get any soap in my eyes, please?_

"What kind of amateur do you think I am?" Gabriel sounded offended but his hands were extra gentle as they supported Sam's neck and leaned him back. "I haven't gotten soap in someone's eyes since… well, never!"

 _Uh huh._ Sam clenched his eyes shut as water poured over his head. True to the archangel's word, the liquid didn't go an inch past his hairline. It didn't even slosh into his ears. Once his hair was completely soaked, Sam heard a finger snap.

"Just me," Gabriel said needlessly. "It's easier to snap up the shampoo than fuss with a bottle."

Sam agreed when those fingers began working the soap into his scalp. He'd grown used to everyone playing with his hair over the past few weeks—but this was something entirely different. Fingertips dug into pressure points, sending a cascade of tingles down his spine that liquified the muscles in their wake. Only Gabriel's hands kept him from falling back into the water.

"There we go," Gabriel murmured above him. "I got you."

Sam floated on sensations as the soap was carefully rinsed from his hair and conditioner massaged in. The fingers continued to scratch lightly at his scalp as the minutes ticked by. He blinked his eyes open when he felt his mind start to drift, not wanting to fall asleep in the tub.

Gabriel was utterly immersed in the moment. His eyes sparkled with quiet joy and he radiated contentment. As soon as he noticed Sam watching him, he smiled warmly. "Hey you."

 _Hey._ Sam returned the smile.

"We're almost done here. I promise."

 _Okay._ His eyes slid shut again all on their own. _This… this is kinda nice. I didn't think I'd like it._

"Humans have enjoyed spa treatments for centuries. Get with the times, you peasant!"

Sam snorted and flicked water in the archangel's general direction.

"You little…" Gabriel sputtered. "You're lucky I'm trying to lull you to sleep right now. Because otherwise, that would have meant war."

 _Uh huh._ Sam's grin was broken by a yawn.

"Alright, let's get you to bed." The playfulness in Gabriel's voice was replaced by that soft tone Sam still wasn't used to.

He tried to contemplate it while the conditioner was rinsed away but his mind kept drifting more and more. The sound of water draining away only served to make his body feel heavier. A warm towel wrapped around him before the air chilled his skin.

 _Clothes,_ Sam mumbled to Gabriel as they walked through the hall _._ He vaguely recalled gathering them before the bath.

"Don't worry—I didn't forget them," Gabriel chuckled.

He jolted awake when they stopped moving and he found himself on the third bed in the shared bedroom. Dean's snoring form could barely be seen through the darkness in the bed next to him. Sam blinked slowly in confusion from within his towel cocoon when a pair of underwear appeared in front of his eyes.

"Can you put these on or do you need help?" Gabriel whispered without a hint of mockery.

Sam forced his limbs to cooperate and wrestled the boxer briefs up his legs. Exhausted from the effort, he flopped back onto the bed as soon as he finished. Blindly, he held a hand out for the next clothing item.

Something warm and gooey touched his leg. Sam tried to kick it away but fingers gripped his ankle. He scowled when Gabriel snorted.

"Hold on. Your skin's gonna dry up and make you all itchy again if I don't do this first." The archangel rubbed the goo into Sam's leg and foot.

 _Is that… lotion?_ Sam asked after a moment of searching for the word.

"Duh. It's what you put on after taking a bath in winter." Gabriel moved to the other leg. "Especially when you live in a freaking bunker."

 _Why?_

"What do you mean 'why?'" Gabriel shimmied the sleep pants up his legs.

Sam barely had the wherewithal to lift his hips to help. He was too hung up on the fact that someone was putting _lotion_ on him. _Why does it matter?_

"It matters because _you_ matter," Gabriel said softly. He shifted further up the bed and began slathering the stuff onto Sam's arms. "Your skin is covered in dry patches. It needs to be moisturized. And it's my job to take care of your needs."

 _Gabriel, you don't have to… I can put lotion on myself_.

"I know."

The hands never paused as they worked the cream in from his shoulders to each fingertip. Warm tendrils of love and contentment trailed across his skin with each touch. It was milder than the overwhelming cloud of emotion Gabriel wrapped around him in Heaven.

Tears burned behind closed eyelids when the hands swept back up to his shoulders and moved across his collarbone and chest. It was one thing for Gabriel to baby him in the midst of a crisis but that situation had ended hours ago. Why was he still treating Sam like… _this?_

"It's okay, kiddo," Gabriel whispered, resting a hand on Sam's belly. Warmth suffused his being but seemed to highlight all the raw areas rather than pacify them. "You've had a really long day after a really long month after an even longer life. There's a lot to adjust to now—and you're doing _so_ good."

Sam chewed his lip and tried to keep his breathing under control. The last thing he wanted to do was have another emotional meltdown. He'd already met his crying quota for the year.

"Turn over for me so I can get your back and then you can go to sleep, okay?" Hands helped maneuver him onto his stomach, removing the wet towel from the bed in the process. A handkerchief was pressed into Sam's fingers before he could wipe his face. "You don't want to get lotion in your eyes."

Tucking his arms under him, Sam pressed the cloth against his eyes hard enough to see spots. This had to be a hazy dream—too good to be true and definitely too good to last. What would happen when he woke up?

Fingers dug the tension out of his shoulders where wings-met-spine. The muscles there maintained a constant thrum of energy, sometimes spasming when it grew too much. Gabriel soothed both grace and flesh until they melted into liquid.

"There we go," the archangel's voice drifted over him. The hands continued spreading lotion slowly into his back in light circles. "You go to sleep now. I'll be right here beside you all night and Morpheus will be on your other side. No one's going anywhere."

The mattress dipped as Morpheus stepped up in his large form. He sank down against Sam, his silky fur tickling the exposed skin on his right side. Morpheus chuffed when Sam shivered at the sensation, then nuzzled the back of his hair. _Gabrieloki is correct. No more fretting._

Sam let out a shaky breath and tried again to let sleep take him. His grace was no longer trying to strangle him like it had been the past few weeks. It thrummed contentedly inside the grace Gabriel had wrapped around him.

What would happen when they eventually had to separate?

He clenched his eyes tighter at the thought and pressed his face into the mattress. Worrying was just going to undo all of Gabriel's efforts. Not the best way to show how appreciative he was toward the archangel.

 _Dear Sam's brain—you are a menace. Please do us all a favor and shut the fuck up long enough for this boy to go to sleep._

Sam startled at the sound of Gabriel's voice in his head, then huffed a small laugh. The archangel stretched out on the bed and something soft, warm, and _alive_ draped across his shoulders. Blinking, he saw only golden light. _Wings._

Turning his head, he found Gabriel facing him with an exasperated smile at the ready. "Hmm, opening your eyes seems counterproductive to falling asleep," he whispered. "Unless you're one of those people who sleep with their eyes open all night."

A finger lazily swirled through the air. Sam watched it draw closer and closer to his face. He swatted it away right before it could land on his nose.

Gabriel grinned. "Nope. Still awake." He brushed Sam's hair back from his face, using a touch of grace to dry it. "I'd offer to sing, but that probably won't help any. I really feel cheated on that front, you know? I mean, who makes the Messenger the _worst_ singer of the angel choir? Nice joke, Dad. Oh, do you want Raphael to serenade us? He's my favorite singer."

Sam shook his head as his eyes finally grew heavy. The words were spoken in a low murmur. The reassurance that Gabriel was _there_ was sweeter than any song.

This moment was unlike any other experience in his lifetime. He wanted to engrave it on his memory and cherish it forever. Just in case it was one-of-a-kind.

His gaze traced Gabriel's face. The archangel just sighed and smiled softly, like he understood. Fingers returned to play with his hair—the weight of which added the physical reminder of his presence.

The time between blinks grew longer and longer until finally, Sam's eyes remained closed.

* * *

Raphael watched in silence as the boy at long last slipped into sleep. Why must everything be a struggle for him? It was to the point where even basic instincts seemed to work against him.

"Thank Dad," Gabriel said under his breath, only loud enough for the angels and Morpheus to hear. "I hope this isn't a new nightly routine."

"His brother said this behavior is normal after a stressful event," Raphael pointed out. "Perhaps Samuel will settle within a day or two."

"It is normal to an extent," Castiel said, keeping his voice as low as the others, "but it is rarely this extreme. And I have never seen him so… focused on another person unless Dean has just survived another near-death experience."

Morpheus raised his head slightly from the bed. _He's had nightmares every night since returning to his own room. They are part of the reason he was reading so much—because he wished to keep himself awake._

In his sleep, Samuel reached out a hand in search of Gabriel. The Messenger caught it with his own and the boy melted further into sleep. "I'll admit—even when I was wrestling with him in the nursery to release his grace and let me in, I didn't really expect _this_." His thumb traced the tiny knuckles in wonder. "But I think maybe I should have. Considering."

"Considering?" Raphael prompted. He glanced at Castiel but the seraph shook his head, equally unsure.

"Considering a lot of things that I should have pieced together. His dream, for starters—this extreme fear of abandonment. Mix that with his fierce need for independence and self-reliance, and you got a kid who already counts himself as alone." Gabriel met Raphael's gaze, anger and pain pouring off him in waves. "I also learned some details tonight that put a lot of things into perspective."

He'd seen Gabriel's rage walking out of the nursery—knew it was bad.

"What details?" Castiel asked.

Gabriel shook his head. "I can't share the specifics without Sam awake—I promised. But I can say they pertain to John."

Castiel's lips pursed as he looked to his own charge. "I can imagine," he murmured. The hunter snored softly, ignorant of the conversation going on around him.

"Honestly, Cassie? If you were sitting on these kinds of details about the boys and didn't share them with your flock leader, you and I would be having a very long conversation." Gabriel sighed. "But as I'm pretty sure even _Dean_ doesn't know about everything I discovered tonight, I'll hold off on any lectures."

Sour surprise twisted Raphael's grace. They had learned quite a bit about the brothers' childhood over the past several weeks. Most of it was horrifying—children left alone for days and weeks, little-to-no food, forced to fight and train far too young, no stability or emotional support. But it did not bode well if one brother kept secrets from the other about specific incidents.

"When do you wish to address these things?" Raphael asked. He knew his brother—there was no question of "if."

"We'll _start_ tomorrow," Gabriel said. "The kid's still freaked about us finding that book. We can't do anything about the rest of it until we address _why_ he was so determined to have a blade. And assure him that us being upset with his actions does _not_ mean he's shunned until further notice."

"What?" Raphael frowned. Shunned?

"Yeah," Gabriel sighed in frustration. "He about had a fit because I dared to hug him and joke around in Heaven."

"I do not understand. Why…"

"Apparently, it didn't matter that he'd just accidentally crossed dimensions or shredded his wings or been scared to death. I should have still been very angry with him." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "I swear, I'm going to combust if he tells me to 'stop being so nice' one more time."

Castiel snorted. "He thinks you are too nice?"

"I know! First time anyone's accused me of _that_ since the dawn of time."

Raphael heard the weariness past the joking tone of his brother's voice. For once, he was equally at a loss. They were in completely new territory where Samuel was concerned.

"I believe discussing these issues will merely bring them to light. No amount of promises will convince the child of any changes to his situation." He mentally ran through the events of the evening once more. Words had remained meaningless to Samuel, regardless of who said them. But he _had_ responded well to one thing. "He will require action."

 _Seeing is believing,_ Morpheus said.

Gabriel nodded in agreement. "Then, I guess we need a plan."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

SUPER SHOUT-OUT to my Discord Darlings and Tumblr friends for all their love and support these past few months.  
Y'all have seen me through intense life revelations, a terrible breakup, and a spontaneous move to Narnia (aka Florida, land of Soup Air). Life is much better now! And I'm hoping my brain settles down so I can write the SHIT outta all the stuff to come in this series (and beyond)!

Side note: I really wanted to name this chapter "FUCKING AWKWARD" because it WAS...FUCKING AWKWARD! I don't think I've ever written so much floof in my life.

BE MY FRIEND ON TUMBLR: theriverscribe  
AND FOLLOW MY SIDE-BLOG DEDICATED TO THIS SERIES THERE: spn-bythegraceofgod


	43. Teach Your Children pt14

**TEACH YOUR CHILDREN  
** **Part 14: Don't You Ever Ask Them Why**

 **WARNING: Discussions of past child abuse**

* * *

Dean woke like a cat, going from deep slumber to complete alertness within the span of a single breath. A hand rested on his arm, familiar and reassuring. Castiel. It helped orient him past the fact that this was definitely not his bed.

Raising his head, he squinted one eye open. A mountain of white fluff filled his vision of the bed to his right. But he was pretty sure he'd find an archangel and little brother on the other side.

A glance around the room showed his mom was still asleep. Raphael sat on the sofa at the end of her bed, reading a book. The Healer nodded at him when he noticed Dean awake.

Dean tried to nod back, but ended up flopping back onto his pillow instead. "What time is it?" he grumbled.

"Almost one in the afternoon," Castiel whispered. "You've only been asleep for six and a half hours. You should try to get more."

"Nah." Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "That's two and a half more than usual. I'm good."

"Four hours is never enough sleep." Castiel frowned but followed him. "Just because you can function on so little does not mean you should."

"Can we make that the Winchester motto?" Gabriel asked in a low voice. He was stretched out on his side, half curled over top of Sam who was burrowed into the archangel's chest.

"Did we run outta blankets?" Dean asked, nodding at their odd arrangement.

"Listen mister," Gabriel said with a playful scowl, "it was this or let your brother gut me like a Taunton and climb inside."

"Yeah, he does that." Dean said fondly. "How was he last night?"

"Restless, even once he fell asleep." Gabriel absently ran a hand through Sam's curls and Dean bet the archangel had been doing it most of the night. "He's tried to wake up a couple times, but I've managed to coax him back down without using grace."

"Impressive. You might have a couple more nights like this before he evens out." Dean scratched Morpheus behind the ears. "I'm gonna make some coffee. Want me to get food going?"

"We should have enough leftovers to last a few meals. I say we forage." Gabriel froze when Sam shifted in his sleep. "Go away," he whispered fiercely as soon as the kid settled, "before you wake him up!"

Dean gave a mock salute and left, grabbing his robe on the way out the door. "Someone's cranky today," he muttered to Castiel once they were in the hallway.

"It… was a long night," the seraph said cryptically.

"Dude, talk about an understatement." Dean rolled his eyes. "It was a long night before they made it back. Sam didn't even finish his bath till around seven this morning."

"You were supposed to be asleep." Castiel raised a brow.

"Please," he scoffed. "Have we met? I don't need musical alarms to tell me when Sam enters and exits a room. I can practically smell him."

"Sam does not smell like anyth—"

"It was a metaphor. Or simile. Or analogy. Whatever." He smacked the angel's shoulder. "I didn't mean it literally."

Dean set about making coffee as soon as they entered the kitchen, brewing it extra strong. He suspected they'd need it today. God, there's gonna be so many chick-flick moments. I can already feel it.

"So," he brought their mugs over to the kitchen table, sliding one to Castiel, "tell me about this 'long night.'"

Castiel stared down at the dark liquid in silence.

Dean didn't prod, knowing the angel would speak when ready. He sipped his own drink and winced. The sugar he'd added helped cut back the bitterness, but it didn't get rid of it entirely.

"Are there experiences from your childhood that you kept secret from Sam?"

Coffee sprayed onto the table as Dean choked. "What!?" Oh, there wasn't coffee strong enough for this. "What the hell did you all talk about last night?"

"Nothing specific." Castiel sighed and met Dean's gaze. "Gabriel refused to discuss details, but he implied that there were things pertaining to John that no one else knew. Including you."

Dean wanted to deny it immediately. He'd practically raised Sam—he knew his brother better than anyone. How was it possible for there to be secrets like that between them when they were living in each other's pockets?

But then he remembered Sonny and how Sam had only recently learned about those months of Dean's life. Or the years Sam spent with Sully right under everyone's noses. How many times had Dean gone on a hunt with their dad and downplayed the danger when recounting the adventure to Sam? Did that count?

"I guess," Dean stood to refill his coffee, needing to move, "there may have been some things I kept from Sam while growing up. But it was my job to protect him. Older brother's do that. He didn't need to know everything—he was just a little kid." He ignored the voice in his head that screamed you were little too!

"Did you ever protect Sam from John in that way?" Castiel asked quietly.

"I don't…" Memories swarmed to the surface—events he'd fought to forget long ago. Consequences he'd had to face alone, either by circumstance or by choice. "Maybe a few times. Fuck!"

Dad drunk on Sam's fourth birthday—making a game of hiding under the bed, desperately trying to keep Sam from giggling. Watching his bike get thrown into a dumpster as punishment for letting Sam jump off the roof and break his arm. The beating he got the first time Sam ran away.

The coffee mug slipped from Dean's hands and shattered on the ground as he covered his face. How many times had he lied to Sam? Tears streaking down Sam's face when he confessed he'd read Dad's journal. Not enough to actually protect him.

"Dean. Look at me, please."

His hands were gently peeled away by an unstoppable force. Warm fingers brushed against his cheek, wiping away tears he hadn't noticed fall. Blinking, he came face to face with concerned blue eyes. "Hey, Cas," he said shakily.

"Hey." Castiel frowned. "I apologize. I did not realize my question would upset you so greatly. I was merely trying to make sense of things but I did not have all the information. But I believe Gabriel is correct in assuming there is more to this than we all know."

"Yeah," Dean croaked. His mind raced with horrifying possibilities. What had Sam kept from him? "Fuck. I just… wasn't expecting that. Um, okay." He needed to regain control. The others would be waking soon. "I need… let me clean this up and…"

Castiel waved his hand and the mess disappeared. "Sit down. I will bring you another cup. Or would you prefer tea?"

"Ew, no." Dean made a face as he staggered back to the table. "I need something a lot stronger than tea. I'm tempted to dig out an old bottle of Hunter's helper to add to the coffee."

"I do not think liquor will help this particular situation," Castiel said, handing him a fresh mug with a small scowl.

"Says the man who drank a liquor store," Dean mumbled.

"As I recall, drinking a liquor store did not help that situation either."

His hands shook as he drank deeply of the hot liquid. Castiel had added extra sugar, the sneak. It helped calm his nerves and clear his mind.

"Fuck. What did Sammy dream about last night? What made him fly off to Heaven and then have to talk about this shit with Gabe?" Dean shook his head. "Last we knew, Sam was torn up over possible future problems—not past issues! No wonder he was such a goddamn mess."

"I do not know the specifics of Sam's dream—just that it dealt with his fears of being left behind by everyone. Nor do I know how Gabriel learned of these new details." Castiel sighed, resting a hand on Dean's arm. "Gabriel wishes to discuss his concerns with you both at a later time—once more immediate issues are settled. I fear I… 'jumped the gun' by telling you this." Not even the air quotes raised a grin.

Sam and Gabe… talked about stuff that happened between Sam and Dad… that I don't know about… and it's got everyone freaked out.

He replayed all of Sam and Gabriel's interactions from that morning after their arrival. What he'd originally seen as simple clinginess and grace-doping suddenly took on a whole new level of meaning. Sam had been emotional, unable to speak, and holding onto Gabriel for dear life. He'd been shaken to his core—and now, so was Dean.

Part of him wanted to rush back to that bedroom. Wake his brother up and demand an explanation. Search every inch of his skin for signs that he'd missed something.

But that would mean admitting there were things Sam had missed too. Scars that were nearly invisible, almost as faded as the memories themselves, would be brought back to light. This kind of conversation would have to be a two-way street.

"Honestly? I'm not sure I'm up for that yet." Dean shuddered as he drained his mug. "Not on one cup of coffee, anyway."

He stood and stretched, ready for yet another cup. But his mug was plucked from his hand as arms wrapped firmly around him. The need to fight only lasted a heartbeat before he melted into the embrace.

"It is going to be okay, Dean," Castiel murmured in his ear. "There is no battle to be won. No danger to prepare for around the corner. And you are no longer alone in this—you or Sam."

"Then why does it feel like it's gonna be harder than fighting God's own Sister?" Dean gasped, burying his face against Castiel's shoulder.

"Probably because there is no enemy to fight here. You and Sam will be facing your own darkness—revealing secrets that have remained hidden for far too long. It is easier to fight an outside force than our own demons. And far less complicated."

"Yeah," Dean sniffed. "Give me actual demons any day over this shit."

Castiel leaned away, making eye contact without releasing his grip. "Will your opinion of Sam change when you learn his secrets?"

"What?!" Dean tried to rear back but Castiel didn't let him.

"Will you think less of your brother?"

"No! What the fuck, Cas?" Dean sputtered in outrage.

"Do you think his opinion of you will change, then?" Castiel's head tilted. "Will Sam think less of you knowing you endured hardships and did not tell him?"

"I don't… no, of course not! This is Sam we're talking about. It's not about losing face!" Dean clenched fistfuls of the trench coat, trying to ground himself. "He shouldn't have to know!"

"You are scared," Castiel said simply, his eyes lighting up with revelation.

Dean wanted to deny it but the words lodged in his throat. His body burned with the need to fight something. He shut his eyes and twisted the fabric in his fists, growling with frustration, "It was my job to protect him."

"Yes, it was," Castiel assured, pulling him in tighter again, "but it is now a shared responsibility. We all protect each other, right?"

He nodded, unable to argue against it.

"Then perhaps it is time to stop guarding these wounds so possessively and let them actually heal." The angel's hand ran up Dean's back to grasp his hair, holding him steady. "You and Sam have spent years hiding this pain—all in the name of protecting each other. But it has protected no one."

Dean's breath caught as his realized the truth of Castiel's words. Rage sparked in his belly—at John, at the world, at the injustice of it all. It has protected no one. It certainly hadn't protected him or Sam.

"Shh," Castiel soothed, "you are both protected now. And there is no need for hiding."

"Jesus, Cas," he huffed a wet laugh, "quit sayin' shit like that. I'm trying to not be a blubbering mess here."

"Oh, right." Castiel dropped his arms and stepped back. Dean's chest tightened at the loss, but then the seraph punched his shoulder—hard. "Buck up, partner. You got this!"

"Ow!" Dean grabbed his shoulder and let out a surprised laugh. "Damn it, Cas! That's not… No more westerns for you. But thanks, dude."

Castiel nodded sagely with a slow wink. "You're welcome."

Wiping his face, Dean took a deep breath. "Alright, how much time do you think we have before everyone wakes up?"

The angel tilted his head again, listening to his brothers. "Your mother is awake and going to take a shower. Sam shows signs of waking but Gabriel is trying to keep him asleep a little longer."

"Okay, so we've got about thirty minutes max." He opened the refrigerator and started pulling out containers. "That's enough time to reheat food and have it ready. Sam'll be more willing to eat if the work's already done."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Didn't we just discuss how caring for Sam is now a shared responsibility?"

"Oh yeah!" Dean grinned and shoved a large covered casserole dish into the seraph's hands. "Get to work, partner!"

* * *

"I'm gonna kill our little brother. Then, I'll make Dad bring him back just so I can kill him again."

"Gabriel," Raphael said with a long-suffering sigh. "You cannot kill Castiel."

"I can if he gets Deano worked into an emotional explosion before food!" Gabriel shot back in a whisper. "What is he doing?"

"He is worried—about both Samuel and Dean." Raphael turned the page in his book, never looking up. "He knows he is missing vital information about his charges' past and feels responsible. Just as Dean now feels responsible. Just as you feel responsible."

"Oh, shut up," Gabriel snapped without any real ire. "Know-it-all."

The corner of Raphael's mouth twitched.

A tiny hand stretched out from under Gabriel's hunched figure and tangled in Morpheus' fur. Sam had started making little sighs and noises as he shifted more and more over the past hour. It was both adorable and nerve-wracking.

He is not going to remain asleep much longer, Morpheus said. It's a miracle he's lasted **this** long.

"I know," Gabriel sighed. "But seven hours is nowhere near close enough. He's still exhausted. I can feel it."

"Yes," Raphael put down his book, "but it will be good to load him with nourishment—food, water, grace. Then, he may be more apt to sleep longer."

"Not to mention a lovely conversation about angel blades and abandonment," Gabriel muttered.

"That, too, should help ease his mind and allow him to rest better," Raphael agreed, ignoring Gabriel's sarcasm. He stood and walked to the door. "I shall go make sure our brother behaves until you join us for breakfast. Castiel's murder would be a terrible way to start the day."

The pillow hit the doorframe just as Raphael ducked into the hallway.

"Why is Cas getting murdered?"

Gabriel jumped at the sound of Sam's muffled voice. "Damn, I didn't know you were awake." He rubbed gentle circles along the boy's spine, hoping to coax him back to sleep. "We don't have to get up yet."

"Nah," Sam yawned and stretched up into Gabriel's hand like a cat before rolling to the side. He rolled his eyes when he ran into Morpheus. "Jeez, guys. I haven't fallen outta bed in a really long time, you know."

"Morpheus takes up most of this bed by himself," Gabriel scoffed. "I'm wedged against the wall, thank you very much!"

Sure, blame me, Morpheus drawled.

"Well, of the three of us, you have the ability to shift down to a much smaller size," Gabriel pointed out. Not that he'd wanted Morpheus to be smaller on the bed. His large frame kept Sam perfectly cushioned between them.

"You didn't answer my question about Cas." Sam sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Did he end up feeding Zadkiel all our food or something?"

"Well," Gabriel hesitated. He didn't want to upset the boy, but he also wasn't about to start lying to him.

"Oh, God. That bad?" Sam looked at him with wide eyes.

"He led your brother into a topic of conversation I hadn't planned on addressing today," he answered cryptically.

Sam blinked. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means," Gabriel sighed. "It means that, without giving away any details, I told Castiel I'd learned some things about your father that upset me. Things you hadn't told anyone before, including him or Dean. And Cassie grew concerned that there were things Dean was keeping hidden about John too… and asked him about it."

Several expressions flittered across Sam's face before a stoic mask descended. He hugged his bare chest, eyes dropping to the bed, unfocused, so he didn't have to look at either of them. "Oh," was all he said.

"Hey," Gabriel said softly, cupping the boy's face and tilting it up. "Can you talk to me?"

"I…" Sam's breathing sped up. "I can't… It's too soon. I… I need a shirt. Where's my shirt?"

"Here, sweetheart. It's alright." The conversation was actually far overdue, but Gabriel didn't say so out loud. He handed Sam the shirt. "No one's going to make you talk about that today, okay?"

"But," his voice wavered as he frantically tried to get the shirt on.

"Not today," Gabriel repeated. "Today, we're going to eat whatever we want. Then, we're going to talk a bit about your dream and what happened last night as a family. And then, we're gonna relax until we're one step above coma-level. Sound good?"

"But…" Sam frowned, and this time Gabriel allowed him to continue. "But Dean—he'll want to know. If he thinks I've kept something from him, something important, he's like a-a dog with a bone."

"Come here, you." Gabriel scooped up the pitiful bundle of nerves and held him against his chest. The kid squirmed, half-heartedly fighting the embrace. "Take some deep breaths for me, okay? I want you to breathe and just listen." He waited until he felt Sam relax enough to no longer struggle for air. "Good boy. Now, being my superpowered awesome self, I couldn't help but eavesdrop on our brothers' conversation. And from what I heard, Dean is not ready to talk about this either. He's upset—but not at you. I promise."

"You can't promise that," Sam mumbled.

"I can too. And I did," Gabriel insisted.

"No, you don't understand." Sam pushed against Gabriel's chest until he could scowl up at the archangel. "Dean… he's got a thing about me keeping secrets from him. He was already pissed about the angel blade because he knew I was hiding something. Now this?"

"Well, I can't speak for him about your super-secret studies situation," he said, ruffling the kid's hair, "but I can tell you that he has no room to talk about secrets. You both kept what was happening hidden from each other. Neither one of you are at fault. You were kids, understand? It's not about blame—it's about helping each other move forward. When you're ready."

"What if we're never ready?" The words were barely said above a whisper.

Gabriel wondered if it was possible to drag a soul out of Heaven and resort their afterlife location. "Give it some time, Sam. You don't have to make a decision today." He shuffled them off the bed and stood, keeping Sam on his hip. "Like I said, we only have one conversation on the books for today and the rest of our time is strictly for relaxation."

"I can walk," Sam protested as soon as they hit the hallway.

Gabriel stopped, shoving down the urge to panic at the very thought of physical separation. It was true—Sam could walk as long as he stayed close. "But isn't this better? I mean, who needs feet when you've got an archangel chariot?"

"Gabriel," Sam drawled, unimpressed and squirming, "I don't need a chariot. I need to stretch my legs."

"Fine," he said, setting him down carefully, "but stay close so we don't have any grace freak-outs."

"How close?" Sam's fingers curled around Gabriel's pantlegs. It was a common enough gesture when Dean was involved, but he'd never seen the kid do it to anyone else. The sight sent a spark of warmth through his grace.

He unfurled one set of wings, grinning when Sam gasped in awe. "How about we keep it within my wingspan? You can grab hold of them if you feel yourself get a bit twitchy." It would keep their graces connected without maintaining physical contact. A fine compromise, if he did say so himself.

Sam nodded and kept pace as they slowly walked side-by-side to the kitchen.

Do I get the option to be carried? Morpheus asked from behind them.

"Not if you're still big enough to ride," Sam scoffed.

The canine snorted and shifted down to his small size. He ran forward with a high-pitched yip, almost tripping Sam in an effort to launch himself into the boy's arms. The cotton ball only made it as far as Sam's knees.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, knowing the shenanigans were on purpose. He'd seen Morpheus clear the tall beds easily in his small form. But he fully supported the ruse when it led to Sam laughing as he fell on his butt.

"Some warrior you are. Come here." Sam grabbed the hyper dog, trying to stay away from the overactive tongue. He failed. "Quit that before I drop you!"

"Pfft." Gabriel reached down and pulled the kid to his feet. "You squirm all the time and I've never dropped you."

"I don't lick your face!"

"Not yet—I wouldn't put it past you though." Gabriel smirked at the look of outrage directed at him. "Hey! All I'm saying is you have a propensity for expressing your displeasure with your mouth—in a non-verbal fashion."

Should I feel left out that you haven't bit me yet, pup? Morpheus asked, pausing in his lick-attack.

"I haven't bitten everyone," Sam whined. "It was just Raphael—one time! And it was during a very stressful moment."

"What about your brother?" Gabriel asked.

"Dean doesn't count. We were still biting each other as adults."

After a quick bathroom stop for morning essentials, they entered the kitchen. Gabriel sent his Father a silent prayer that the mood wasn't awkward or tense. He didn't dare ask his brothers over angel radio—not when his grace was so closely wrapped around Sam. It wouldn't help anything if the boy thought they were talking about him behind his back like he was fragile.

Luckily, the emotional angst of earlier seemed to have dissipated. At least on the surface. Everyone was seated at the table making quiet, light-hearted conversation.

Sam paused at the threshold, taking in the scene. Nervousness poured into Gabriel through their bond but there was nothing left to do except move forward. He ruffled the kid's hair, reminding him he wasn't alone.

"Sammy!" Mary spotted them first and rose from the table. She knelt down in front of her son and looked him over. "How are you, sweetie? Did you get enough sleep?"

"Hey, mom," he said with a shy smile. "I'm good."

She glanced up at Gabriel for confirmation and he shrugged. "Well, we've got lots of food heated up and ready to go. Let's get you a plate. You barely ate anything yesterday."

Gabriel fought to not roll his eyes when he saw their seating arrangements. There were two open seats and Sam's raised chair was directly next to Dean. How subtle, he thought.

Sam sighed and shuffled into his chair. "Mornin'," he mumbled.

"I think we missed morning by a few hours," Dean said, studying his brother out of the corner of his eye. "How did you sleep?"

Sam shrugged, avoiding his brother's gaze. "With my eyes closed."

"Meh. I'll count that as a win. You want coffee?" Dean stood, draining his own mug.

"As long as he also drinks something that actually hydrates him afterwards," Raphael said before Sam could answer. The kid opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the look the Healer gave him made him snap it shut.

"Got it," Dean chuckled.

Contrary to popular belief, Sam traced a stain on the table top with his finger nail, I **have** survived the last few decades without you all monitoring my diet.

I **really** don't think that's the argument you want to go with here, kiddo. Gabriel smirked at him, with one brow raised.

Sam dropped his head to the table hard enough to make the others wince.

"Here," Dean set a coffee mug next to the kid, "drink this before someone in the God-squad changes it to decaf."

The mug was immediately grabbed and pulled close to Sam's chest. "I will smite anyone who touches it," he grumbled, drinking it in large gulps.

Raphael's laugh rolled through the kitchen. "Your coffee is safe from me, little warrior. No need to guzzle it."

Gabriel pushed a plate of food to Sam. Something in his chest unclenched when the kid tore into it instead of picking it apart. One less battle for them to fight.

The meal went quickly, fueled by an awkward energy. A cloud of tension hung over them all and it wasn't going away until they talked about it. But everyone seemed determined to wait until the food was gone.

By the time their plates were cleared away, the tension had ratcheted to an unbearable level. Sam sat hunched in his chair, mug clenched by white knuckles. Dean wasn't doing any better—his leg kept bouncing, knocking into the table. Mary glanced at the angels, unsure what needed to happen next.

Gabriel sighed. Sometimes, being the leader sucked. "Alright, time for a little family-flock meeting like we discussed last night. Then, we're gonna have a super chill day. Sound good?" The brothers gave half-hearted shrugs. "Awesome. Anyone need more coffee or a bathroom break before we start?"

"Both," Sam mumbled, slipping off his chair. He set Morpheus on the ground and looked toward Gabriel. He jumped when the voice behind him spoke up.

"Yeah, same." Dean said, stretching as he stood and walked nonchalantly to the hall.

"I'll, uh, just put on a fresh pot," Mary said with a small smile.

Gabriel steered Sam out of the room. With Morpheus remaining in the kitchen, the kid wrapped his arms around himself and trudged slower as they approached Dean. He debated whether to pick Sam up or leave him be when the hunter made the choice for him.

Dean sighed and moved alongside his brother. Gabriel fell back a few feet—still close enough to reach by wing, but far enough to give them some privacy. It was going to be a hard thing to come by in the next month.

"You doing okay, Sammy?" Dean shoved his hands in his pockets

Sam shrugged while staring at the ground. Gabriel didn't know whether to roll his eyes or cry. Not that we're any better in Heaven, he thought. We chose to destroy the world rather than talk about our feelings. Then, the boy shook his head and the urge to cry intensified.

"Yeah," the hunter dragged a hand back out to scratch his neck nervously, "me neither."

"Not talkin' 'bout it." Sam was barely audible as his arms tightened around his chest.

"I know, I know—and we're not! Definitely not talking about… it. We're totally on the same page where it is concerned." Dean agreed, blushing fiercely and nodding to himself. Then, he cringed and glanced at Sam. "Um, we are on the same page, right? 'It' is… umm…"

Gabriel wondered if he'd ever heard a more vague, riddle-filled conversation before in his life.

"It's Dad," Sam blurted quickly, putting them all out of their misery by ending the awkward monologue, "and we're not talking about him."

"Good. Right. Absolutely." Dean nodded faster. "That's exactly what I was saying—we're not talking about… about him." He stopped Sam with a hand on the boy's shoulder. "But I can still ask if you're okay, if we're okay, without it being mentioned."

Sam shrugged again and continued to stare at the ground.

Dean took a deep breath, then slowly knelt down in front of his brother. A joint popped loud enough to echo but he stayed in place with a determined grimace. "Hey," he said softly. "We don't have to talk, but can you look at me?"

Gabriel both felt and saw the turmoil taking place within the fledgling. The young grace practically cried out to him and Dean, while Sam's mind actively tried to control it by pushing it down. Maybe if I carried a spray bottle and squirted him with water every time he denied his grace something, he'd learn to not do it.

Several moments passed before Sam's head lifted. It was clear that Dean expected to see some degree of anger or blame in his brother's eyes—but none was there. Instead, he was met with tears of sadness and Sam's own fear of rejection.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean let out a sigh of relief. It turned into a wet laugh as the conversation continued on a silent level. Not even the archangels understood the language shared by these two brothers.

The corner of Sam's lip curled up. He wiped his eyes with a sweaty fist and nodded. Gabriel felt lost until Dean suddenly wrapped his arms carefully around the kid, burying his face in the mess of curls.

These boys are gonna be the death of me… again. Gabriel looked away from them, trying to pretend he wasn't intruding on their moment. Meh. It would be a noble death. There are definitely worse ways to go—like brothers who literally stab you in the chest. This is just a metaphorical chest stab.

"I really do have to pee," Sam mumbled into Dean's chest.

"Oh, right. Yeah, me too," Dean said sheepishly as he released the kid and struggled to his feet. "I probably drank a whole pot of coffee before you woke up."

Sam rolled his eyes and they kept walking. "That's nothing new. Try being super tiny. Anything I drink sends me to the bathroom in less than an hour."

What? Was that why the boy kept refusing drinks the night before? Gabriel frowned and watched for Dean's reaction.

The hunter's brows furrowed and his mouth opened and closed several times like he was searching for the right words to say. "You mean," Dean paused and licked his lips, "like when we were kids?"

"Well, duh." Sam looked at him like he was stupid. "I'm kind of a kid again, in case you missed it. My brain may be an adult but the rest of me certainly is not."

Dean grunted without commenting further, then pushed Sam toward the door when they got to their destination. "Age before beauty," he said with a tight smile, "and since you're both the oldest and youngest one in this line, you go first."

"I don't know if you're being nice or condescending," Sam said suspiciously but went in and shut the door.

Dean's eyes glazed as he quickly became lost in thought.

"So, that was interesting," Gabriel murmured to him.

"I'd forgotten." Dean's voice was hollow. "He wouldn't drink for hours during car rides because it made Dad angry if we had to stop. It got better once he was about eight years old—must have grown into his bladder or something. I didn't realize it was an issue for him again."

Gabriel pushed down the spike of anger that always came at the mention of the boys' father. He didn't even have time to ask all the questions floating around his head at this new revelation. The sound of running water meant Sam was almost back out.

"Don't worry," he said instead. "That isn't something he'll go through with us. I'll make sure he knows that when things aren't so tense, okay? I promise."

Dean jumped, surprised when Gabriel patted his shoulder. He managed a single nod before the door opened. Sam's eyes narrowed at their somber expressions.

"Dude, I was gone for less than two minutes! How did you guys even have time to get emotional over something?"

"I'm a sensitive guy, Sam." Dean moved past him and closed the door.

"What did I miss?" Sam asked.

Gabriel ruffled the kid's hair. "Your brother's just had a rough morning."

"Uh huh," Sam said skeptically but didn't push.

When Dean returned, his smile was brighter. "Come on," he scooped Sam off the ground, ignoring the squirming protests, "let's see if I can't steal you another coffee before Doc forces you on a juice and water regime." That settled Sam down.

"Fine."

"That's what I thought."

Gabriel snorted but couldn't hide his grin as he followed the boys back to the kitchen.

* * *

Sam tried to remain calm as he waited for the others at the table. He picked at the label of his water bottle, wishing it was coffee. Raphael's stony stare had reduced Dean to a sheepish smile and shrug. The traitor.

According to Gabriel, this discussion would ease Sam's mind. But how was that possible? Most conversations these days seemed bent on destroying him.

Unlike his carefully hidden secrets that kept getting revealed at every turn, this topic was straight forward and rooted in logic. Sam had a well-documented history of people in his life either leaving or dying. And it would happen again.

It would hurt like literal Hell but he'd resigned himself to the fact that every person present at the bunker would leave one day. And forget the cold, distant nonchalance of his dream. Sam's grace was edgy with Gabriel across the room. He'd probably go nuclear the day the archangel actually left.

But there was a difference between silently accepting the truth and saying it to their face. Verbalizing the issue would force a response—either confirmation or lies. Which would be worse? Both options made Sam want to vomit.

 **What is wrong?** Castiel's smooth voice cut through the building thoughts.

Sam's eyes flicked to his friend across the table. What isn't wrong? he wondered as his thoughts continued to spiral.

He wished he'd asked Castiel more about Heaven's traditions through the years. Angels were capable of anything from lectures to locking their most beloved sibling in a cage in Hell for thousands of years. Could he expect punishment for trying to manifest a blade in secret? Maybe angels preferred doling out discipline in group settings.

 **Samuel!?** Genuine concern radiating from the seraph as he leaned closer.

"Sorry. It's nothing. I'm fine." He kept his gaze away from those gathered at the coffee pot and tightly reigned in his scattered grace. It was tickling his skin in an uncomfortable way.

"Gabriel," Castiel snapped.

The archangel appeared in a fluster of wings before his name was finished. "What happened? What's wrong?" he asked, immediately inspecting Sam.

"Nothi—"

"You were too far away for too long." Castiel scowled at the Messenger. "You made Sam fret."

"I'm sorry, kiddo." Gabriel swept his hands across Sam's hair and back. "I didn't… We did so well with the bathroom door separating us, I thought we'd be okay across the room from each other."

"No tests, no experiments, no lessons," Raphael said firmly. "Not without my permission and supervision—which I shall not give until you have both sufficiently rested and recovered."

"Bossy," Gabriel mumbled, slumping into his chair and scooting closer to Sam.

"Really, I'm fine," Sam insisted when the archangel continued fussing over him. He didn't need them to think he was falling to pieces and unable to handle a group discussion.

Raphael's snort echoed through the kitchen.

"I swear!" Sam put his hand up in an oath-taking gesture. "I wasn't having a meltdown because you went to get coffee. This was nothing like… last night in Heaven. I'm just… stressed… in general," he finished weakly, lowering his hand to rub at his face.

Dean sat on his other side, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "Not your best 'I'm not a wreck' speech. But A-plus for effort."

"I hate you," Sam whispered back.

"Hey, he might have convinced Sariel!" Gabriel defended, lightly flicking Dean's nose. The archangel casually wrapped a wing and arm around Sam's shoulder—seemingly because it allowed him to continue pestering Dean. But the warm contentment seeping through skin and grace told another story.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean swatted back half-heartedly. "How about we move this thing along so we can get outta here before dinner time?"

"Right." Gabriel cleared his throat, tucking Sam even closer into his side. "A lot's happened in the last day or so. We had a lot to talk about even before Sam flew into Heaven mid-nightmare. I think it's important that we still discuss this as a family and flock. Keeps us all on the same page and working together."

Raphael nodded and addressed Sam directly. "The events of your dream enlightened us to a degree. But I must confess, I still do not know what drove you to practice manifesting angel blades in secret." His tone held no judgment—only curiosity.

This is like an intervention, Sam thought. He wanted to sink through the chair and floor until he hit the subbasement level where he could hide in the dark for eternity. But then he shuddered, remembering past "interventions" that took place in locked panic rooms, and he shoved the thought away.

"Umm," he took a sip of water, hoping to cool the burn building in his throat, "I guess I just wanted to be prepared… for the future."

The Healer frowned, confused. "Angels are not introduced to combat until the very end of their training. We must first master the fundamentals of our grace and education."

"Just like a human kid wouldn't jump straight into organic chemistry before they've finished kindergarten just because they want to be a doctor," Gabriel said. "And who knows? By the time he gets to college, he may have changed his mind anyway!"

"You know I've been to college, right?" Sam asked.

"But you haven't been an angel," Gabriel pointed out. "It takes time and there are steps that can't be skipped. Manifesting an angel blade at your age skips all the steps."

Sam flushed and took another drink. "I thought I'd been kidnapped…"

"Dude," Dean glanced sideways at him over his coffee, "he's not talking about what went down in Heaven. They want to know why you were trying to learn it in the first place."

"Oh, right." Sam's stomach twisted.

"When I came back to check on you last night, your brother said you'd told them what was bothering you," Gabriel prompted gently.

Sam barely heard anything past the first part. "You came back? When I was asleep?"

"Yes. You followed me when I returned to Heaven. Didn't you…" Gabriel frowned and turned to Raphael. "Did we not mention that?"

"No, I… I hadn't realized I'd literally followed you. Not that it really matters in the long run." Sam shook his head. "Wait. Sorry. Why were you here?"

"I needed to see that you were alright. It hadn't felt right leaving you after our confrontation and I was worried." Gabriel's grace resonated with warm concern. "Can you tell us what's been troubling you?"

Troubling me? Sam opened his mouth, but quickly closed it. Did he stick to the obvious reasons everyone already knew about? Or delve into the nightmares that ended each day of training? A hint of hysteria tickled the back of his throat, but he didn't know if it would manifest as laughter or tears.

A throat cleared to his left. Sam turned to his brother and found Dean looking back questioningly. He nodded, grateful to be understood without speaking.

Dean returned his nod before addressing the group, although he focused mainly on Gabriel. "When Sam says he's preparing for the future, he means The Future—long-term. Like, when mom and I die."

"Oh. That's… oddly specific." Gabriel frowned, sounding sad but still confused. "How do angel weapons factor into this? Are we fighting our way through Heaven to see them?"

"No," Dean scoffed. "He thinks no one will be around to take him for visits. Meaning no one would be around to protect him either."

"But," Gabriel froze, startled, before slowly continuing, "where would we go? Why?"

Sam shrugged and hunched further down his seat.

"Back to Heaven or the pagans," Dean said. "Sam's been pretty sure the rest of Heaven won't want him. I don't know if his little adventure last night changed anything."

"I am unsure how much Samuel was able to register in Heaven," Raphael said carefully, "but I can assure you that the Host has sung of nothing except him since his impromptu introduction. Most are demanding he return so he is 'properly' cared for and protected. And yes, that includes those who have discovered your identity. It was not difficult to piece together once they heard your name and saw you in person. The knowledge did not sour their opinions."

"But…" Gabriel's voice cracked. The calm concern he'd been exuding shifted into alarm. "I'm sorry, can we go back? When you say 'leave'…Why are we leaving?"

"Everyone leaves," Sam finally managed to say. The burning in his throat spread to chest. He kept his breathing even, trying to maintain the image of being in control. "They leave or die. Including me—I've done my share of leaving! And dying, for that matter." He winced at hearing his own words and rushed to add, "It's not always voluntary, but it is inevitable. I just… I need to be prepared."

The silence made Sam look up. Mary and Castiel, already knowing the issues at hand, both had watery eyes and sympathetic expressions. Dean gave him a half-smile—because he understood. But the archangels?

Raphael's vessel was frozen, like he'd disconnected from it but remained within. No breath, hand suspended over a cup of tea, eyes unfocused. His wings, however, flared in warning the moment he grasped Sam's meaning.

Gabriel paid the Healer and the others no attention. He shoved away from his chair and dropped to his knees in front of Sam, pushing into his space until they were nose-to-nose. No one spoke.

Trembling hands framed Sam's face as grace-lit eyes bore into him. Then, Gabriel blinked and the golden glow died down to reveal whisky and water. Sam jumped when he saw a tear escape.

"I… I'm just saying, things happen." Unfamiliar emotions pelted his grace like a growing hailstorm. "Mom and Dean are mortal, and we don't know at what rate I'll age. I could still look like a kid in a century! I need to learn as much as possible while I have the chance. Nothing lasts forever."

Gabriel slowly nodded throughout Sam's speech. Not in agreement, but a form of acknowledgement. When it was over, the archangel pressed their foreheads together. "What am I going to do with you, hmm?" he whispered.

 **Leave,** Sam's mind answered through their connection without his permission.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. The fire in his chest and throat spread upward, burning his eyes. Blinking did nothing to stop the tears. He didn't want Gabriel, or anyone else, to leave! He was tired of losing people.

The fingers on his face gently wiped them away, one-by-one. "Oh right, to return to the pagans?" Gabriel asked with a soft smile.

"O-or Heaven," Sam managed to say.

"And what might be a reason I decide to do such a thing?"

"You were a-a Trickster." Sam remembered the months he'd spent hunting the archangel after the Mystery Spot—knew the being's patterns of movement and behaviors. Even Raphael described him as impulsive and flighty.

"He thinks you'll get bored of domestic life," Dean provided, "and either return to Heaven with Raphael like a good angel or dish out justice against the dicks of the Earth."

"Are those my only two options? Because yikes." Gabriel grimaced.

"It's not a bad thing," Sam said, ignoring the part of him that screamed 'yes, it is!' "You're the Archangel of Justice. God's Messenger. You were made with a purpose." A purpose that went far beyond being a stay-at-home dad to a bunch of misfits.

"That is incredibly insightful. Isn't he insightful, Raphael?" Gabriel kept his gaze trained on Sam.

"Hmm," was Raphael's only response.

"Just one small problem," Gabriel's eyes lit up with gold once again, but this time it was intentional. "You keep forgetting that you are mine. **My fledgling. My child. My responsibility.** And not just you—I've laid claim to all stray Winchesters and their adopted angels. So, if I do leave this bunker, I'm taking all of you with me."

What? Sam frowned in confusion. Where did that response fit within the "confirmation or lies" spectrum?

"We could start our own pantheon," Mary said, smirking.

"There are many goddesses who embody motherhood and hunting," Castiel mused. "You could easily stand among them."

"Oh, Diana and Artemis would adore you," Gabriel agreed, "and Hecate has already demanded we visit her soon. She may try to keep us in her realm for a few ages."

Sam struggled to follow the wistful turn in conversation. Why couldn't they just acknowledge the inevitable and move on? Why draw out this fantasy?

"Of course, Heaven sounds pretty interesting too," Mary continued. "Imagine all the things we could teach the angels—especially with our old friends to help out."

"You have no idea!" Gabriel grinned. "The souls are revolutionizing how Heaven functions. Human creativity combined with divine knowledge? It's mind blowing. Not to mention all the slang and pop culture references the angels are learning in the process!"

"Bobby's teaching pop culture?" Sam asked distantly.

The enormity of their old mentor's presence in the Garden hadn't quite registered at the time but it was slowly sinking in. Raphael's previous stories of souls organizing had sounded like fairy tales. But could their friends really create lasting change in Heaven?

"Sam," Mary said in a quiet voice. He looked at her, blinking until her face came fully into focus. She smiled. "I think you're missing the point, love."

"What point?" He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

Mary stood and walked around the table to crouch beside him and Gabriel. "It's okay to prepare for the future. And things will change over time. But that doesn't mean you have to prepare alone." She gently held one of his hands between her own. "All those people you lost in the past are now working toward a better future together—a future that includes you and me and Dean and all the angels."

"Even Cas?" he whispered.

"Do you think anyone would have peace in Heaven if Dean knew Castiel was being kept away from us?" Her eyes sparkled as she grinned.

Sam didn't know how she could exude so much joy and confidence when he felt like his world was shattering piece by piece. But her smile was infectious and he found himself returning it. "Probably not," he sniffed. "Dean has a way of annoying his way out of bad situations to get what he wants."

"It's a gift," Dean said.

"I just…" Sam trailed off, unsure how to put his fears into words without repeating himself. No one spoke as they waited for him to continue. "Our lives change really fast all the time—and I wake up every day expecting it to change for the worse." His breath caught in his throat. "The better things get, the more scared I get because I won't… I can't…"

"Won't what, Sammy?" Mary asked.

"Make it," he muttered, shrugging slightly to lessen the severity of the truth.

Mary's arms wrapped him up tight and pulled him onto her lap. She held him in a silent, fierce embrace. Her heartbeat pounded against his cheek and he didn't think she'd ever felt so real. Gradually, Sam relaxed, muscles melting to conform to his mother's body.

"When Dean was born, I'd hold him just like this for hours," she whispered in a broken voice. "He was so tiny, so fragile—I feared that the smallest thing might break him. And when I got pregnant with you, I thought I'd be better. But I was even worse. I needed to feel your chest rise and fall, your breath against my skin, so I'd know you were okay. That you were still there."

Sam nodded, rocked by how much he identified with his mother's story. He turned his face into her shirt and pressed harder. Every moment with her somehow felt like his last and it made him want to live in those fleeting minutes forever.

"I still feel that fear," she muttered into the top of his hair, "when I hear about things you survived—or the times you didn't survive and someone brought you back. I hate that you've suffered so much you anticipate it. And that you expect to be alone through it all."

A shudder moved through Sam's grace and into his small frame. Mary ran fingers through his curls and Gabriel smoothed down the quivering wings until Sam settled. Each person in the room radiated a unique energy—a reminder that he was not alone today.

"I know words are empty if not backed up by actions," Gabriel said softly, "and I don't want to make big flowery promises about things that are outside my control. So, how about this—can we agree as a group to prepare for things together? We can make as many contingency plans as we need. Plans for if we join the pagans, plans for returning to Heaven, plans for building a Hunters' Hostel here in Kansas or starting a bakery in Brazil. But let's plan together so there's no more 'what if's' to worry about. Okay?"

Could it be that simple? Sam wondered. Dean had always been more of a "shoot first, hope for the best" kind of guy. They'd made a few contingency plans over the years, but most of Sam's preparations for the future had been done in silence.

"What do you think, Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam heard his brother smiling. "You want to prepare for the future with the guys who probably helped map out the creation of the universe? Sounds like pretty advanced geekiness, if you ask me."

Sam reluctantly pulled away from Mary. As much as he wanted to remain cocooned against her forever, this conversation required eye contact. He blinked until her smile came into focus.

A glance around the room showed a mixture of eager hopefulness and muted grief. Everyone had something to lose, and everything to gain. Maybe the others needed this newly formed family as much as he did.

"I think… I'd like to try," he said. Most of his life had been decided by others. He'd rarely been offered choices that didn't include world-wide consequences or personal devastation. Group planning like this would be new.

"That's my boy," Mary beamed, kissing his forehead.

Kisses and smiles and mothers were new too. Worth fighting for. But maybe he could keep it all without fighting this time.

"Also, as a side note—telling yourself that it's okay for me to abandon everyone because I've got some fancy titles?" Gabriel tapped his nose with a fingertip. "Not a justification. You're worth better than that, understand? I expect you to raise those standards—get them at least a few inches off the ground. Okay?"

"I didn't know I had any standards," Sam said honestly, grinning in amazement, "but I guess I can try that too."

"I'd sure appreciate it," Gabriel huffed.

Everything was new.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

OMFG! FOUR MONTHS?! FOUR FUCKING MONTHS?!  
A huge THANK YOU to everyone who continues to read and support this series!  
Life has been a rollercoaster since moving and it hasn't slowed down yet. I've started a new job that leaves me exhausted beyond words each day. I worked over 60hrs last week alone. BUT the overtime is gonna get me a car...and then I can reevaluate my options. My writing and art are very important to me, and I'm not willing to compromise on them forever.  
In the meantime, I'm writing when I have the energy and mental capacity...hence the four months between updates. Rest assured, I have every intention of continuing this series for a very long while! There are MANY fics left to write in BTGOG alone...not to mention other series I have in mind ;)

Again, I cannot thank all of you enough for your support and comments! I'm gonna try to answer them all 3  
Hopefully, I can get the next chapter out a little faster!


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